


The Key of Blood

by Nybbas



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-11 06:44:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 41,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10457847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nybbas/pseuds/Nybbas
Summary: It's Sam's first year at Hogwarts and he's ecstatic to be leaving his muggle father, who still blames the magical community for his wife's death, and joining his beloved older brother at a school where he'll finally fit in, but might not be welcome. Featuring loads of Supernatural characters and plot-lines blatantly transplanted into the Harry Potter universe. Crossposted to ff.net.





	1. The Boys Who Lived

Mrs. Martha Bedford of Hinton, Hampshire, first noticed her new neighbors when she heard the baby cry. The cottage next to hers had been unoccupied for years, only periodically tended to by a bad tempered gardener employed by the cottage’s constantly absent owners. Whenever Mrs. Bedford had shown any interest in the place, the surly old man would simply carry on clipping the hedge and mutter,

“It’s a family place.” 

The cottage surely wasn’t looking its finest when the new family moved in, though, Mrs. Bedford thought. The Novembers in Hampshire were mild in temperature, but were wretchedly wet. The little stone cottage looked particularly dreary with a few roof tiles missing and no doubt water seeping into the cellar. Certainly, Mrs. Bedford thought, it was no place to take a baby. 

It was a pale grey afternoon when Mrs. Bedford first heard the baby cry. Puzzled, she eased herself out of her armchair and slipped on her wellies. She tottered outside and crossed the treacherous path of slippery stones that led out of her garden. The garden gate of the other cottage had rotted away years before and she had no trouble reaching the door and peering around. 

Mrs. Bedford was a well-meaning woman, but she was prone to a self-righteous sense of duty towards her fellow man. Thus, she saw no problem with letting herself into the cottage, calling out to the owners that she’d come to welcome them to town.

“Hello? Is anybody home? I’ve just come from across the way,” she called in a high, reedy voice. There was no response but the baby’s continued crying. A spike of tenderness touched Mrs. Bedford’s heart and she followed the sound of the infant into the back room. She pushed open the door, blue paint flaking off onto her hand, and she saw a spartan room containing nothing but a crib and another small bed. 

“What are you?” A voice whispered from behind her. Mrs. Bedford spun around with a start and was met with the gaze of a little boy, no more than four or five. His face was pale and wan, framed by overgrown blond hair, but his green eyes were fierce.

“Well I’m your neighbor dear. Just came by to introduce myself and cause I heard the baby. Are your parents home?” Mrs. Bedford asked, collecting herself and smiling warmly. 

“My mom died. Last week. She burnt up. My dad made us move out here where her parents lived. But he’s always gone. He’s busy,” the little boy murmured moving over to the crib and standing atop his own bed to reach in and comfort the baby. The boy’s accent was clearly American. 

“I’m so sorry about your mum dear. When will your dad be back?” Mrs. Bedford said, fidgeting with her cardigan and trying to think how to act. 

“Late tonight I think,” the boy said flippantly, obviously more concerned with the baby’s cries. “He cries all the time and I don’t know what to do. Maybe he misses mom. It’s okay Sammy.”

“Is his name Sammy? That’s a lovely name.” Mrs. Bedford moved over to the crib and saw the baby, face red and wet and strained. “What’s yours?” 

“Dean,” said the boy. “Winchester.” 

“Winchester? Is that where your family comes from?” 

“No,” Dean smiled a little without a trace of shyness. “We’re from Kansas.” 

“Well Dean Winchester, how would you like to have some tea with me and maybe I can calm your brother down a bit?” Mrs. Bedford offers. Dean’s eyes narrowed in suspicion for a moment, but eventually he seemed to judge her fit and he nodded. 

“They tried to burn our house down before, you know,” he added, almost like a warning. “But we got out. We both lived.” 

Mrs. Bedford felt her eyes get a bit damp. She reached for the crying baby, instincts still intact from when her own children were small, but Dean brushed past her and lifted the infant himself. He carried the baby protectively, improbably able to hold the weight. A strange child, Mrs. Bedford thought, must be older than he looks. 

He tried everything she served him at tea, seeming particularly fond of the scones with copious amounts of jam. The baby Sammy stopped crying after he’d been changed and fed and soon fell asleep in her arms. 

Mrs. Bedford walked the boys back home that night. For a moment she thought she saw Dean, silhouetted in the window, float slowly up to the level of the crib to put the baby back in. But it must have been a trick of the light. Still, they were strange boys. 

The Winchesters moved out in another few weeks and the cottage in Hinton fell back into perpetual disuse. Occasionally however, Mrs. Bedford awoke in the night and saw strange figures standing out in the yard. Half asleep she tried to remember their conversations, but in the morning she only ever recalled one phrase. 

“They were there. The boys who lived.”


	2. The Unexpected Gift

Sam Winchester woke up. Trying to hang on to the last snatch of a dream about a tree and a far-away house, he squeezed his eyes shut against the pale dawn.

“Come on Sammy, get up,” said the low voice of his father, John Winchester. Sam sighed and sat up, motel bed creaking beneath him. John offered him a cup of grayish motel tea, which Sam accepted without enthusiasm. 

“Are you leaving today?” Sam asked, sliding out of bed and rummaging for his school uniform. 

“I’m checking out some potential muggle hunting up in Essex, but I should be back by tonight.” John was already fully dressed, hovering by the door and jingling his keys. 

“Couldn’t the ministry handle--?” Sam began hopefully but John cut him off.

“You know they could care less about us. Muggles have to learn to defend themselves and not depend on those…” John trailed off; hesitant to begin what Sam knew would eventually devolve into their age-old conflict. Sam and his father simply couldn’t understand each other, and it only got worse when Dean was away at school.

Ever since that day nearly five years ago when Dean had gone off on that train to join the world that Sam and his father lived on the fringes of, the few weeks of summer when he returned seemed like the only real part of their lives. Travelling around England while John tried to prove to himself that the secret world of magic had murdered his wife, Sam had felt like he lived in a formless grey boundary between two worlds that both rejected him. 

Sam got out of bed and pulled on his clothes. Spring was in full bloom outside, which of course meant that rain was drizzling down at a fairly constant pace. Sam shoved his backpack under his sweater and grabbed a newspaper to cover his head before he bolted from the motel room to walk to school. 

The motel they’d been staying in for a few weeks was a grim affair located in a rather disreputable suburb of London. Sam had already spent a few weeks becoming dazzlingly unpopular at the local school, but he secretly hoped that his father would at least let him finish the school year there. 

The newspaper over Sam’s head slowly became soaked with water and eventually he gave up and threw it away. He darted under a shop awning to dry off for a few moments and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass. His shaggy hair was flattened to his head and could use a cut. 

Staring at his own face and brushing rain out of his eyes, Sam was struck with the niggling feeling that he was forgetting something. He eyed himself suspiciously, narrowing his eyes in a vain attempt to counteract his babyish face and short stature. 

A car splashed past him on the street and pulled around the corner into the school drive. Sam made a final dash for the school entrance, but was stopped when the occupant of the car swung a door into his path. 

Sam groaned internally as the enormous mass of one his less pleasant classmates unfolded directly in front of him. The boy looked at him with dangerous eyes, a faintly menacing smile playing about his lips. His father’s car pulled away and Sam shrank back, hoping to get into the building without incident. 

“Hey Dirk,” Sam tried to smile. 

“Hey Dirk!” Dirk replied in a horrendous imitation of Sam’s accent. Sam’s heart sank. However, at that moment a pack of Dirk’s friends waved him in from the doors of the school and Dirk turned to join them. 

Sam started to follow him in, but Dirk stopped abruptly, causing Sam to stumble and collapse into the mud. Sam lay sprawled on the ground for a moment, as their laughter grew fainter, trying very hard not to cry. He began to pick himself up, wrapping his arms around his chest as if to hold in the tears of humiliation. He would certainly earn himself cleaning duty for the state of his clothes now, not to mention the probable state of his books. 

Sam stood up and squeezed his eyes shut tightly for a moment, wishing with every bone in his body that Dean was there. Then he took a deep breath and walked into the school.

The first teacher he encountered looked him up and down critically. Sam braced himself for the inevitable. Yet the blow never came. Sam entered his first class in a state of shock. He fingered his sweater slowly, examining it carefully for dirt. 

His clothes were spotless. They were completely clean and dry, perfectly laundered. 

Sam could barely pay attention in school. He drifted through his classes, preoccupied with only one thought. Could he be? Sam didn’t want to think the word, curse himself. But could he be one? Could he go and be with Dean and escape this terrible in-between world where he was just a freak? 

At the moment the final bell rang, Sam bolted from the classroom, avoiding eye contact with anyone who might try to stop him. He tore out of the school and as soon as he passed the school gates, began to jog. He darted across streets, so lost in his thoughts that he would have been hit by a speeding lorry had the cry of a bird not jolted him back into reality. 

Catching his breath on a corner, Sam spotted the bird. It was a rangy old owl with one eye missing and large patches of feathers gone. Sam grinned. The horrible bad-tempered animal was Dean’s. The owl swooped down and settled on Sam’s arm, clinging to him with more pressure than was strictly necessary. It screeched once, pecked violently at his hand, then dropped a grubby envelope and departed.

Sam grabbed the envelope, but didn’t open it. First, he sprinted the rest of the way back to the motel. He bought a packet of crisps from the vending machine for dinner, and then unlocked his room with shaking fingers. 

There it sat on the table next to a single perfectly white feather. Sam’s heart accelerated as he moved towards it, scarcely able to believe what he was seeing. The letter was addressed in emerald green ink and bore an old-fashioned wax seal. The address read:

Mr. S. Winchester  
Room 129  
2115 Broad Street  
Harlesdon  
London

Sam tore the letter open irreverently, spilling the contents all over the floor. It was the real thing. He was accepted. He was magical. 

Sam Winchester was going to Hogwarts. 

He didn’t care about his father’s anger and resentment. Sam flopped back onto the bed, mind racing with thoughts of school supplies and finally sitting in that scarlet train instead of just watching it pull away into the distance. 

Suddenly remembering Dean’s letter, Sam scrambled to find it and tore it open as well. A disgusting melted ball of unidentifiable sticky sweets tumbled out. Sam pried the single piece of parchment that was stuck to it away with minimal damage, and unceremoniously threw the sweets away. In Dean’s familiar scrawl were three large words in shiny dark ink.

“Happy Birthday Sammy!” 

The realization hit him dully that this was what he had forgotten that morning. He was eleven. That’s why the letter had come. It was his birthday. Sam clutched the letter to his chest for a second. He was eleven and he was going to Hogwarts and leaving old motels and angry fathers and glum schools. 

He sang happy birthday to himself as he opened the packet of crisps and turned on the T.V. He fell asleep with it on, waiting for his father to return, the contents of the letter strewn all over his bed. 

Sam dreamed that night of a boy cowering in a corner, wincing at the blows of his father, stretching out a hand, a butcher knife sliding towards him, and then his head filled with the sound of screaming.


	3. The Final Hunt

The summer that year was one of the loveliest on record. The sun shone nearly every day, breezes were light, and it only ever rained in the evening when everyone was just thinking of bed. 

Unfortunately for Sam Winchester, he was stuck on a miserable lump of rock with a stiff breeze and spray coming through the cracks of the horrendous shack John had managed to rent for the week. 

The man who’d given them the key had called it a ‘Holiday cottage’, but his definition of holiday seemed to be something more along the lines of self-flagellation. However, the town they were investigating was too small to have anything more than a tiny bed-and-breakfast, and after an incident a few years back involving a small dragon, several ministry officials, and a lot of blood, John had forbidden them from staying in another one. 

Sam was curled up on the rickety old couch, attempting to read, when a heavy leather jacket dropped from the sky. 

“C’mon Sammy, it’s summer, you can’t just sit there and shiver.” Dean flung himself down onto the couch next to Sam, wincing a little as he hit the protruding spring. Sam pulled the jacket around him thankfully, grinning at his older brother. 

“It’s never summer in the middle of the North Sea,” Sam said sarcastically. 

“Hey, it’s not so bad. We’re all together, on a hunt again. The family business.” Dean lowered his voice conspiratorially. “And term starts soon. Your first year, I know you’ll love it. You’ll get to come too.”

“Sam, Dean, what do you have?” John tramped in from the other room, sporting an impressive arsenal in various states of assembly. Dean snapped to attention immediately. Sam didn’t look up, but read out of his book.

“There are several creatures that could be responsible for the drowning spike. Mermaids, sirens, kelpies, selkies, sea serpents, you name it. What did you find out about the victims?” Sam turned to Dean. 

“Well, the first two victims were both children, but neither of them were anywhere near the water when they disappeared. Both were found in a local reservoir, but here’s where in gets interesting. A local man was found dead there around a month ago, although his cause of death was a broken neck, presumably after a fall.” Dean explained, glowing under John’s approving gaze. 

“Alright. We go check out the reservoir, look for signs, and see what this thing might be. And remember…” John looked sternly at both of them, waiting for their practiced answer.

“No wizards. No magic. We handle this ourselves.” Dean recited, and Sam mumbled along with him. 

“You boys get the boat, I’ll pack up.” John commanded and Dean sprang up. Sam loafed along behind him. 

Dean had grown tall over the past year, but not gangly. At fifteen years old, he resembled a Greek statue, all lean muscle and youthful vigor. Over the summer, his freckles had multiplied and his dark hair had turned bronze. Girls noticed him on the streets, and Dean certainly noticed them back. He shoved the boat into the water with effortless grace, while Sam stumbled over the rocks, shivering as he tried to untie the rope. 

“Can you grab the oars?” Dean called over the roar of the sea. Spray made his face and hair shine in the pale light and the wind whipped his shirt around his body. 

“Got them,” Sam said without enthusiasm. Dean’s face took on a familiar look of parental concern. 

“What’s on your mind, Sam? You’ve been moping around all summer,” He continued, steadying the boat. Sam struggled for a moment to find the right words.

“It’s- I just- I’m so sick of this. This constantly moving around. Fighting things we shouldn’t have to fight. Always being ordered around and moved around and just… I want to go to Hogwarts. I want to help people with magic, with the ministry, the right way. Why does it have to be us?” Sam reflected, thoughts that had been forming at the back of his mind for months finally taking shape. “I just want to go to school and get away from all of this.” 

Sam’s heart sank when he looked up and saw his brother’s face. It was that same old expression of vague sympathy mixed with a stubborn refusal to concede that anything Sam had said was in any way valid. 

“You’ll get to school soon enough, don’t get impatient. Besides, we’re helping people right now. Who else has the chance to go out there and really save people’s lives? Save the girls?” Dean grinned, smile unmarred by the spray blowing into his face. “We’re heroes, Sam, you can’t forget that.” 

“Alright boys, move out,” John called, climbing down the rocks from the cottage, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. 

“Yes sir,” Dean said, steadying the boat until Sam and John clambered in and then leaping over the side and pushing them off. 

Sam bent low over the boat as they smashed through several large waves, completely soaking them all in salty water. Sam’s thin denim jacket felt soggy and heavy as it absorbed the water, and his feet squished in his boots. Dean gave a little whoop as they went over a particularly high wave, although he sobered when John cast him a disapproving glance. Sam poked his head up as they entered the calmer water near the dock. There was an appealing sort of charged anticipation in the air, and the stiff breeze from the ocean left him revived from the queasy journey.

Some parts of hunting were great. The wild rush of adrenaline, the glorious moment of discovery, and often the triumphant return. But although Sam would never admit it, hunting terrified him. At eleven years old, he walked into the dark and faced monsters. John forbid him from doing any actual fighting, but mistakes happened and sometimes Sam came face-to-face with creatures of true evil. 

John steered the dingy up to the dock and Sam scrambled out first, pulling the rope with him. He secured the knot onto the post then, reached down to drag his brother and father up. 

The dock was at the edge of the small community, tacked on the to the shack of a local fisherman. As they entered the town, most streets were quiet and empty, with only a few lights still burning in the windows. A few fishermen were still finishing up at the local pub, the Driftwood Stallion, but they took no notice of the damp family hurrying past towards the pond. 

Dean and John easily swung themselves over the low stone wall at the other end of town, while Sam struggled for a minute to hoist himself over, cursing his failure to grow. 

But soon, Sam thought, none of these little grievances would matter. He would be magical, able to fly over a wall if he chose. He wouldn’t feel so powerless and small and dependent. He would be strong.

The pond seemed still and harmless, its dark depths utterly imperceptible. John unzipped the bag and took out a few instruments. He handed Sam an EMF detector and jerked his head to indicate that Sam should scan the area. Dean went down to the edge of the water and recklessly waded in. John bent to the ground and began sketching a complex series of runes in the mud by candlelight. 

Sam prowled around for a while to no avail. A bird called out from the shrubs and he jumped. The air around him was cold and his sodden jacket did little to help. He stumbled a little over a protruding root and nearly flung himself into the mud. 

As Sam righted himself, he noticed an impression left in the mud by the bank. Peering closer and squinting in the dim light, he could make out the faint mark of a sharp half circle. He turned his head, listening subliminally to Dean calling something to him across the water. He held up a hand and yelled over to John.

“I think I found something by the bank! It’s some markings, but not like footprints… more like… hooves,” Sam identified the prints with a sharp intake of breath. “Dean! Get out of the water-“

But as Sam whirled around, he could already see the black horse rising from the deep. Water streamed from its flanks and its mane of bulrushes. An eye burned like a cold flame in the beast’s lowered head. 

As if in a trance, Dean stretched out a hand to stroke the kelpie’s nose. The kelpie sank to its knees, inviting Dean to ride before it bore him down into the deep, as it had with the children.

John fired a round of salt into the kelpie’s left leg. The creature seemed unharmed, but it did have the effect of startling Dean back into reality. He sloshed backwards onto the shore. 

“Sam?” He yelled. “Any tips?” 

“Uhhh.” Sam tried desperately to remember what he’d been reading earlier that day. He’d been huddled on the couch, wishing he was somewhere else, dreaming of castles and feasts and maybe a little bit of a house somewhere far away and a calm voice and golden hair. “Kelpies… they lure people onto their back, and, and, you have to bridle them! The only way to subdue a kelpie is to bridle it!” 

“Oh great,” Dean called back sarcastically. “Glad I brought my bridle out to a pond in the middle of the night.” 

“Sam, run and get one from town, we’ll hold it off,” John ordered. Sam felt panic rushing through him, unwilling to leave his brother at the mercy of the giant terrible horse. Holding in his fear, Sam dashed off into the woods, branches whipping against his face.

He vaulted over the stone wall with the ease that comes with terror, and hurdled down the cobblestone road, thinking wildly of where he might find a horse. 

He skidded to a halt in front of the pub, heart racing as he remembered the great driftwood horse marking the entrance. Sure enough, the owners had put a saddle and bridle on it, presumable to mark the shoddy carving as being an actual horse. 

Sam clambered up beside the statue and with trembling fingers, tugged the bridle off. When he managed to work it free, he leapt down, knees buckling slightly from the fall. 

“What do you bloody well think you’re doing?” Called an indignant voice from inside the pub, but Sam took off again before they could follow him. He darted back down the narrow lanes, lungs burning with each gasping breath. 

He tried not to allow the potential horrors into his head, tried not to imagine his brother dragged down into dark water and extinguished forever, but worst-case scenarios came unbidden to the front of his mind. 

When Sam burst back into the clearing with the pond he was greeted by the sight of Dean and John half-wrestling the kelpie and half-dragging each other off of it. Sam sprinted forward and flung the bridle at John who caught it and attempted to force it over the beast’s head. 

The kelpie reared and bucked, Dean clinging futilely to its neck in an attempt to steady it. John cursed loudly as he was knocked backwards into the mud. 

“This is why… they should just… let us use magic outside… of school!” Dean grunted as he tried to prevent the kelpie from retreating back into the water, digging his heels into the ground. “It’s bloody, woah girl, stupid. A little help here?” 

John got back to his feet and went around to the back of the horse, shoving it back towards land. Sam spotted his opportunity and ran to help his brother shove the rest of the bridle over the head. Up close the kelpie was enormous, stinking of rotting flesh, and still lashing out with deadly hooves. 

Dodging the feet, Sam wrapped his arms around the kelpie’s neck and yanked until the bridle was secure. Dean fastened the last strap on his side then collapsed as the kelpie reared back with a wild cry. 

Sam stumbled away, panting, but in a moment, the enormous horse seemed to calm down. Looking closer, Sam could see that its mane had returned to plain hair and its eyes were simple brown. Apparently now an average docile horse, it trotted over to a nearby patch of grass. 

“Fancy a ride now, Sammy? It’ll be just like that book you like, what was it, Black Beauty?” Dean laughed mockingly from the ground, somehow managing to look cool while completely covered in mud. 

Sam relaxed for a moment, tension draining out of him after the fight. Abruptly his calm was broken when John stormed up and seized him by the front of his shirt. 

“What were you thinking pulling a stunt like that? Are you trying to get yourself killed, huh? Or is this just another rebellion, some stupid demonstration?” John snarled, shocking Sam into silence. 

“N-No! I don’t know what-?” He managed to splutter and John shook him vigorously by the shoulders. 

“You aren’t supposed to fight, Sam. You’re eleven years old, I won’t have you trying to take on full-grown kelpies!” John shouted. Sam noticed the pained note of worry in his voice, but his anger persuaded him to ignore it. 

“Oh, alright. Bring me on all the hunts, but don’t let me fight the monsters! Drag me all around the country as your personal research assistant! Wait for something to get me defenseless, because when something finally comes to kill me, why should I know how to fight it?” Sam chocked back, voice thick with fury and suppressed fears. His jabs, intended to cut deep, had their desired effect and John grew pale. 

“You’d abandon your own family? You think we do this for fun? Well, toughen up Sam, its never gonna be a pleasure cruise, alright? We fight because we have to. It’s in our blood,” John said coldly. 

“Hey. Both of you just-“ Dean tried to interject, but John cut him off with a dangerous motion of his hand. 

“I hate this,” Sam hissed. “I hate being afraid and moving around and being a freak. I hate fighting when there are other people who should take care of it. It’s not in our blood. You have no idea what killed mom. And you haven’t exactly made much progress on finding out.” 

Sam spat out the last sentence with all the venom he could muster. He locked eyes with John, his father’s dark eyes unreadable. 

“Then leave,” John said shortly. He turned away and started packing away his bag. “And if you walk away, don’t come back.”

“Fine,” Sam whispered. He spun on his heel and crashed blindly away into the woods. He could hear Dean calling desperately for him, then cursing creatively and following him. Sam kept running, trying to outrun his brother. 

He had no idea where he was going after a while; he simply ran blindly into the woods. His passage was loud and ungainly, but after a while he ceased to hear Dean’s shouts. Breathing hard, he collapsed beside a little lane winding through the woods, thinking vaguely of hitching a ride. 

He realized he was shaking once his breath had evened some. His limbs felt heavy and limp, the combination of intense physical and emotional upheaval compacted into one hour taking its toll. The ground beneath him was damp and muddy, soaking into the seat of his jeans and sending a spike of cold up his spine. 

Then the weight of his actions began to sink in. He had no money, no home, and most importantly, no way to get to Hogwarts. The thought of stealing made him uncomfortable, so he began to count out his possessions. 

The total added up to a lighter, a paperclip, a pocketknife, and the tattered and damp remains of his Hogwarts letter. The letter was soft and malleable from constant refolding and the ink had run, but Sam still kept it in his pocket every day. However, the latest boat trip seemed to have finished it off so it lay disintegrated in Sam’s lap. 

He was staring at the crumpled paper when Dean, gasping and shouting, came sprinting into the clearing. He took one look at Sam, clutching the remains of his letter and shaking, then his face softened a little and he knelt and pulled Sam into a reluctant hug. 

“What the hell is wrong with you, Sammy?” Dean panted, then pulled back and stared intently at Sam. Abruptly, the guilt finally hit him. Whenever he tried to hurt his father, he always ended up hurting Dean. The damage was reflected in those tired green eyes. 

“I’m not going back, Dean. You can’t make me. I won’t go with him,” Sam ranted, still slightly hysterical. 

“Hey, hey. Easy there. No one is forcing you to do anything. I just don’t want you to run off,” Dean said soothingly, patting Sam’s shoulder. 

“I want to go to school. I don’t want to hunt anymore. I’m done,” Sam said, trying to keep the tearful tone out of his voice. He clutched the fragments of his letter. Dean sighed and ran a hand over his face. 

“Alright. I’ll work it out. You don’t have to go back right now. But-“ Dean struggled to find the words. “He’s still dad, you know? Eventually, you’ll have to… work something out.” Sam didn’t say anything, but fidgeted with his letter. Dean examined the paper and smiled faintly. 

“It’ll be better at Hogwarts right?” Sam asked, voicing a fear that had been growing in his mind for some time. Dean sat down next to him, eyes distant. 

“Did I ever tell you about my first year? It was hell. I was separated from you. I worried all the time. I couldn’t tell anyone about my family or what we did. They never understood how we lived. And some people, well, they don’t like wizards whose parents are muggles. So I tried to fight it alone,” Dean explained, smiling faintly. 

“I never knew.” Sam muttered. He tried to imagine Dean at eleven, going to Hogwarts and being so miserable. It was hard to imagine. He’d never even seen his brother cry, with the exception of a few tears of shock when he’d broken his arm nearly seven or eight years ago. The closest thing Sam could think of was how sometimes when ‘Hey Jude’ came on the radio, Dean would get a very shaky voice and have to leave the room. 

“Well, the next year it got better. I met my friend Cas. I thought he was a dick at first, big rich important wizard family. And other people helped. But I just wanted you to know that your first year could never be as bad as mine. Because you’ll have me. People will watch your back. It’s gonna be ok. I promise.” Dean patted Sam’s back, then shoved him a little to counteract the emotional sincerity. 

“Jerk.” Sam laughed. 

“Bitch.” Dean replied automatically. He stood up and brushed himself off. Then he offered a hand to Sam. “Come on.” 

Sam left the letter on the ground and walked back down the lane with his brother.


	4. New Faces

Going a week without seeing his father was not a new experience for Sam Winchester. Nonetheless, it had begun to feel strange to wake up in the morning without those obligations or that sense of dread. 

Sam woke up very groggy, splayed across the single bed that he’d been sharing with his brother. He didn’t try to get up immediately, savoring the peace of the morning and trying to recall his dream. There had been a man, maybe, and a therapist telling him something, reassuring him, and then darkness and wet pavement. 

“… No he’s not coming back yet.” Dean’s muffled voice came from just outside the door. Sam sat up a little, suspicious and eager to overhear. “You have to give him more time... Of course I’m taking care of him, we’re fine. I’ve got some money… well how else would I get it? I don’t have a job. Look, don’t worry; I’ll look after him. Maybe if you give him some space he’ll get over it.”

Sam shifted uncomfortably, miffed at Dean’s secret communications. He rubbed sleep out of his eyes and tried to flatten his mop of hair before creeping closer to the door to listen. Closer, he could hear how strained Dean’s voice sounded, the hidden anxiety he’d been carefully concealing for the past week. 

“I can take care of him, dad. I promise… I- I can’t tell you where exactly, but we’re in London. Term starts this week; I’m going to take him to get school supplies... I know. Yeah, I understand. I know my job… Just try to understand him. Try not to make everything a fight, please dad… Alright. I’m sorry. Bye.” Dean hung up, then sighed heavily. Sam felt a rush of guilt, understanding from the tightness of Dean’s voice that his brother would definitely not have wanted him to hear that conversation. 

Quickly, Sam padded back to bed and flung himself back down before Dean entered the room. Feigning sleep, Sam watched through a slit in his eyes and Dean threw off his coat then walked over and stood above him. He could glimpse the oddly parental smile on his brother’s face and in a moment, he felt a hand brush a strand of hair out of his face. The bed shifted slightly as Dean perched on a corner, watching protectively over his sleeping brother. 

Sam allowed himself to bask in the warmth and security of the moment, an unbidden smile curling at the corner of his mouth. However, the moment was ruined when Dean suddenly jerked the covers out from under him and made a horrifying noise that might have been an attempt at a rooster crow. 

“Rise and shine, Sammy!” Dean bellowed, no longer the uncertain boy pleading with his father, but filled with bravado, confidence and wisdom beyond his years. “We’ve got shopping to do.” Sam scrambled out of bed, dignity wounded. 

“Seriously Dean?” Sam whined, regaining his balance at the expense of a stubbed toe. “You couldn’t think of a better way?” Dean laughed goo-naturedly. 

“Remember that week when I woke you up every morning blasting ‘Heat of the Moment?’ That was in Bristol, right?” Dean reminisced fondly. 

“No Bristol was the werewolf. That was some nowhere village in Devon. And it was one of the worst weeks of my life,” Sam grumbled, pulling a shirt over his head and consequentially sending his hair flying out in every direction. 

“Alright, alright. Buck up a little. We’re going to get your school stuff today.” Dean ruffled Sam’s hair into a further state of emergency. Sam smiled despite himself. 

“We’re going to Diagon Alley right?” Excitement crept into Sam’s voice. 

“Yeah! I forgot dad never wanted you to go. Thought you’d get jealous I guess.” Dean carefully avoided the topic of their father’s general prejudice against the wizarding world. 

“But now I’ll go,” Sam said, almost dreamily. “And I’ll be there with everyone else.” 

“Yeah…” Dean smiled without his eyes, shifting a little uncomfortably. “Look, Sam, you know I’m going to look after you, but… Well we’ve never had a lot of money. Hogwarts has a fund, you know, so you’ll get your stuff. It’ll just have to be second hand for the most part. We can try to find some bargains.” 

“Dean, it’s not a big deal. What matters is that I get to go. Who cares if my robes aren’t brand new?” Sam said reassuringly and Dean’s face relaxed a little. 

“Good. Get ready and we’ll go.” Dean busied himself with making two cups of semi-undrinkable tea and Sam pulled on the rest of his clothes, hands shaking with anticipation. 

Sam and Dean dressed for invisibility, an important skill they’d picked up whenever their father’s cases took them to London. The idea of spending money on something as basic as a train repelled John, but Sam’s short legs couldn’t keep up with Dean’s brisk walking pace, so they’d long ago developed the perfect system for jumping the barrier and bunking the tube. 

The station at Elephant & Castle was busy that early in the morning, but Sam and Dean managed to fit smoothly in behind other patrons. This was, Sam thought, the one place where his smallness seemed a distinct advantage. Eager not to be stopped for a ticket, Dean hurried them onto the next train and leapt off the moment the doors opened at the Charing Cross station. 

Sam was not familiar with Charing Cross Road, but he had a vague memory of being taken to sit in a book shop for a few hours while Dean bought his school supplies one year. Eagerly, Sam looked around, unsure of exactly how a secret wizard street would be hidden in a place like this. Dean led him a few blocks down the street then pointed. 

“Do you see it this time, Sammy?” He squinted a little and pointed near the next corner. Sam’s eyes shifted between two fairly average little storefronts, unfocused. 

“See what? How am I supposed to know what to look for?” Sam asked irritably, gesturing widely. 

“Just concentrate. Look where I’m pointing,” Dean said, and Sam tried to follow the line of his finger, screwing up his face with effort. 

Abruptly, Sam’s eyes seemed to gain clarity and he noticed a grubby black pub squashed between two buildings. He gasped a little, shifting back and forth between the miraculous pub and the buildings beside it. Dean grinned. 

“Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron, fine wizarding pub and lodging. C’mon.” Dean loped along, disappearing into the pub. Sam followed into the dim pub, trying to adjust to the smoky darkness after the bright street. 

The Leaky Cauldron was fairly empty, occupied only by the barman and a few elderly witches in tall dusty hats decorated with ragged stars and what appeared to be live birds. Dean saluted the barman as they passed through.

“Alright Tom?” 

“Move along, Winchester,” The barman, who looked something like a gnarled billiard ball, snarled sullenly, clutching protectively at a stack of plates. 

“One day you’ll appreciate my youthful vigor, Tom. It might spice up your little establishment. Bring in more business,” Dean said, leering at the elderly witches who tittered and sent the birds on their hats into a frenzy of chirping. 

“And who is this?” The barman said, noticing Sam and peering suspiciously at him as though he might have several missiles jammed under his jumper. 

“My little brother, Sam. It’s his first year.” Dean leaned on the bar and casually lifted a bottle from the shelf while Tom was distracted by Sam. Sam sighed inwardly and attempted to smile innocently. Tom looked repelled. 

“There’s two of yeh?” His face had fallen as though he had discovered an unwarranted parking ticket. “Move along, move along.” 

Dean had shoved the bottle under his coat and allowed himself to be ushered out of the bar. Sam tramped along after them out into a little courtyard, completely closed in by a brick wall. 

“Uh, Dean? Is he… imprisoning us?” Sam whispered nervously. Dean smirked knowingly and said nothing. 

“Go get yer supplies, but don’t even think about staying in my pub afterward,” Tom grumbled, stomping back into the bar and slamming the door. 

Dean, completely unbothered by the Tom’s obvious hatred of him, stood contemplating the bricks for a moment. Sam peered closely at the bricks as well, eager to spot the magic before Dean this time. 

This test, however, proved more straightforward. Fishing out his wand, Dean simply tapped a specific pattern of bricks and the wall began to gamely shuffle aside. Sam tried to hold the combination in his memory for the next time he visited. 

But the pattern completely vanished from his mind when he saw what lay on the other side of the wall. A cramped little street unfolded in front of him, shops exploding with color crammed up against each other and equally colorful people packed between them. Men and women wearing sweeping robes in outrageous colors swished majestically from shop to shop, children pressed their faces against windows bursting with delightful and strange toys, and a few very abnormal creatures with tiny sharp faces flitted about on the sidelines. 

Dean seized Sam by the arm and pulled him into the throng. Amid the crowd of magnificent people, Sam felt smaller than he’d ever felt in his life. He brushed through velvet cloaks, following the smell of butterscotch. A dirty man with very few teeth and a very patched hat attempted to sell him an amulet that appeared to be made of a sprouted onion and several shriveled lizards. 

It was like being inside of a book, Sam thought. Every wild story that Dean had brought home over the years was suddenly manifested in front of him, with more glorious details than he ever could have imagined. 

“So we’ll need robes, I suppose. Then maybe books and we can see how much we’ve got left after that.” Dean muttered, jolting Sam back into reality. “I’ll go exchange our money and let you look around a little.” 

Dean shouldered off into the crowd, leaving Sam to poke his nose into all of the fascinating little shops he’d been eyeing. He darted into Eeyelops Owl Emporium and spent a few minutes staring at the vibrant variety of birds. He forced his way into the crowd at Gambol & Japes and spent a few minutes roaring with laughter over the brilliant tricks and jokes the wizarding world provided. Although he had no money to spend, one of the clerks let him examine the Fanged Frisbee. 

His fingers only slightly gnawed on, Sam escaped back onto the street and headed next door to Quality Quidditch Supplies. The game held a sort of mystique for him. He knew that Dean played, but his brother never explained the game articulately enough, leaving Sam’s imagination to embellish it to mythic proportions. 

A group of other children, obviously students, were all gathered around a corner of the store, gazing longingly at a sleek brown broomstick. Sam quietly joined the group to listen. 

“I hear it’s the fastest broom in the world,” sighed a boy around Sam’s age. 

“All the teams use it. No one ever flies on anything else,” a little blonde girl in brilliant white robes announced. 

“I’d love one,” Sam sighed to himself, eyes bright. The blonde girl turned and looked him up and down scornfully. 

“As if you could afford it. Even for a mudblood you’re poor,” she spat scornfully. Sam felt as though he’d been slapped. He backed away from the group, humiliated. 

“Well I don’t see you getting one any time soon, Lilith,” snapped a slightly older girl with dark hair and a firm mouth. “Your daddy hasn’t been buying you many presents lately seeing as he’s rotting in Azkaban.” 

Lilith looked mortified and whirled out of the shop. Sam stood stunned, unsure whether he should leave or not. The dark haired girl approached him. 

She was slightly taller than he was, although only a year or so older. Her brows were thick and her jaw strong, yet there was an appealing softness to her mouth. 

“Sorry about that. Lilith’s starting this year at Hogwarts and I’d rather not have her walking all over the rest of you,” the girl addressed Sam. “I’m Ruby by the way, I’ll be a second year.” 

“I’m Sam,” he replied shyly. “Uh, first year.” 

“And your parents are muggles?” Ruby asked, not unkindly. 

“Yeah, my dad’s a muggle. But my older brother goes to Hogwarts.” Sam said, encouraged. 

“Good, I just wanted to make sure you aren’t completely overwhelmed.” Ruby laughed warmly. “Who’s your brother?”

“Dean Winchester. He’s a fifth year.” Sam shrugged, fidgeting with a tin of handle polish. Ruby’s eyebrows shot up, but her tone stayed neutral. 

“Well, I’ll probably see you at school. Do you need any help finding anything?” She asked. Sam fumbled for his supply list. 

“Um, is there a second hand robe shop? I’ve only spotted the main one.” 

Ruby stretched out a hand and Sam grasped it tentatively. Laughing, she tugged him out of the store onto the street. Darting through the crowd, Sam felt his face grow warm as Ruby pressed purposefully ahead.

“Alright here you are, delivered safely.” Ruby gave a mock bow and salute. Sam grinned and waved before she melted back into the crowd. 

The second hand robe shop was dim and disorganized, long black cloaks piled haphazardly on long tables. A few other students seemed to be rummaging through the piles, looking for a size at least similar to theirs. 

Sam looked around for Dean, but not seeing his brother, decided to start searching for robes that would not be comically large on him. 

When he reached into the first pile, his hand bumped against another and he jumped. A girl with curly blond hair poked her head around the pile of robes. 

“Oh hallo. Looking for the smalls?” She asked without condescension. Sam flushed.

“Uh, small. I mean yes. I’m looking for you. I mean smalls. We are both looking for smalls,” he stuttered. The girl giggled a little and held out her hand. He shook it. 

“I’m Jess. This is my first year, is it yours too?” She asked and Sam nodded. “Great! I’m so excited to go. My parents are… what do they say? Muggles! Yes, so they’re utterly shocked, but honestly they should have guessed years ago when I accidentally exploded all the Christmas presents. Did you know you were magic?” 

“My older brother was.” Sam said, suddenly finding it easy to speak. “But I didn’t think I had the stuff, you know? It was just a few months ago when I managed to dry clean my school uniform spontaneously that I knew. It’s… amazing.” Jess squealed with laughter, throwing her whole head back in a flurry of golden curls. 

“Dry cleaning! So much less dramatic!” She declared, then sobered slightly. “Well, I hope you can do that with these robes.” She plucked a very large pair with what appeared to be acid burns down one sleeve from the pile. Sam recoiled in mock horror, pleased that she laughed again. 

“I can try,” Sam smiled. Jess reached her hand forward again, and for a breathless moment Sam thought she might hold his hand again. Her eyelashes fluttered shyly and she seemed about to speak. Sam’s mouth hung open and he hoped he didn’t look like an utter prat. 

“Sammy!” Dean bellowed as he strutted into the store. Jess immediately retreated to her side of the table and started sorting through robes again. Sam, mortified, spun around as, to his horror, his brother decided to seize him by the head and ruffle his hair. 

“Hello Sam,” came a more subdued voice from behind Dean and a sad-eyed teenager with a nest of dark hair stepped into view. He wore wizard’s robes with a long tan trench coat draped over his slender frame. Yet his air of sleepy disorganization was offset with a sharp hawk nose and piercing blues eyes that gave off the alarming impression of barely controlled strength. 

“Sam, meet Cas. Finally in person!” Dean relinquished his headlock on Sam and gave an affectionate punch to the dark-haired boy. 

Sam had been hearing of the exploits of Castiel Milton for years now. To Dean, Castiel was somewhere between socially awkward baby and badass messiah defender of the weak. His family was apparently extremely old and influential, yet Castiel wandered on the fringes of popularity, bound by family duty and honor, yet unpretentious and recklessly loyal to muggles. Dean raved about him, although Sam thought smugly that he probably wouldn’t want Castiel to know all that. Nothing bothered Dean more than having his swaggering masculine confidence undermined. 

“Hi,” Sam waved a little. “I’ve, uh, heard a lot about you.” 

“And I you,” Castiel said sedately, his accent perfectly cultured. “Your brother talks incessantly about you. Worries, to be more accurate. But in person you seem much more… capable.” Sam flushed and cast a scathing glance at Dean, but Castiel, although blunt, seemed to respect Sam’s judgment of the matter. 

“So I’ve exchanged the money, now we just need to spend it,” Dean announced. “Look for the smallest possible robes.” 

Sam resisted the urge to bury himself in the pile of robes and never face the outside world again. As he turned to continue rummaging through the piles he caught a glimpse of Jess sweeping out of the store. Sam made an odd sort of choking noise in an inarticulate attempt to wish her goodbye, and had to pretend he was coughing when Dean cast him a funny look. 

The work went faster with three people and soon they has found a pair of robes short enough so that he did not trip over the edge, although the sleeves completely covered his hands. Dean paid quickly, the grim strain of financial management etched on his face. 

Sam turned and saw Castiel gazing at his brother with such powerful protective adoration that it startled him. Castiel fidgeted with the edge of his own perfectly new pristine robes, apparently fighting the urge to offer some sort of monetary assistance without wounding Dean’s pride. A smile cracked across Sam’s face and warmth flooded through him. If Dean was going to pick such strange friends, Sam hoped they were all like Castiel. 

“Now onto your favorite part, Sammy. Books!” Dean announced as they left the store. “Just think of all the research you can do, day and night, avoiding any fun…” Sam rolled his eyes. 

“Oi!” Yelled a voice through the crowd and a slender blond girl maybe a year younger than Dean shouldered her way through the crowd towards them. She had a sweet cherubic face with round dark eyes and a little pouting mouth. However, to Sam’s discomfort, she had the most terrifyingly determined and formidable expression on her face that, in contrast with her beauty, made her presence extremely jolting. 

“Jo!” Dean embraced her affectionately and her face softened into a smirk. “Haven’t seen you all summer! How’s quidditch and, uh, how’s your mom?”

“I’ve been training all summer,” Jo proclaimed. “We’re going to have a winning team this year for certain. Ravenclaw doesn’t stand a chance, even with that new seeker of theirs. As for mom, well, let’s just say that she hasn’t gotten scarier.” 

“I don’t understand your obsession with Professor Harvelle, Dean. A good teacher must be strict with pupils in order to enforce discipline,” Castiel said disdainfully. Dean snorted. 

“Well apparently she can’t see the difference between my boundless youthful energy and what she termed ‘moronic childish buffoonery’” Dean grumbled, assuming a pretentious accent and sending Jo into convulsions of laughter. 

Sam looked around, utterly mystified, but still feeling the warm glow of general acceptance. There was something about the way Dean lit up around his friends that cast sharp relief on his dutiful silence at home. 

Dean rushed Sam through Flourish and Blots, nearly dragging Sam away from a few fascinating new releases. Castiel surreptitiously bought one of them and whispered to Sam that he could borrow it any time. Soon Sam had also visited the apothecary and the cauldron shop and he could tell that Dean was counting ever penny. 

“Right, so we’ve used most of your funds, but there’s just the wand left so…” Dean frowned. “Well, they have some cheap ones if you ask… it might not… fit you quite as well, but I’ve managed.” 

Sam almost didn’t notice the wand shop. It was a bit dark and shabby, the name Ollivanders written in peeling paint above inscrutable windows. Across the street were the bright umbrellas of an ice cream parlor, which seemed to draw Dean’s attention considerably. 

“Hold on a tick. We’re taking a little detour,” Dean grinned and tugged Sam over towards the cheerfully bright umbrellas. 

A man sat beneath one of them, his faded and ragged robes clashing with the vivid pink of the umbrellas stripes. He had a broad bearded face, with tired lines etched into it. 

“Bobby!” Dean cried. The older man looked up from his book and his face broke into a fond smile. 

“Don’t bother me now ya idjit, can’t you see I’m busy?” He grumbled pleasantly, his accent clearly American. 

“I want you to meet, Sammy, er, Sam, my little brother. Sam, this is Professor Singer,” Dean presented Sam. “He’ll be a first year, so, you know, go easy on him.” 

Dean slid the bottle he’d stolen from the Leaky Cauldron onto the table next to Bobby who eyed it favorably. 

“If you expect me to accept this crap as a bribe, boy, you are dumber than you look. You’re lucky your brother already seems like a genius in comparison,” Bobby replied and stowed the bottle inside one the huge pockets of his robe. Sam couldn’t help but smile. There was something delightful about the old professor’s façade of misanthropy. 

Suddenly, Dean’s eyes widened as a dark haired girl came out of the store next door, laughing with her friend. Sam raised his eyebrows sardonically. 

“Sam, are you okay getting that wand by yourself?” Dean said, distractedly shoving the remaining money into Sam’s hand then dashing off. Sam barely had time to nod before he realized he had no idea what the bizarre coins were worth. 

Cas sidled up to the table and sighed. 

“Lisa Braeden again. The new Ravenclaw seeker,” He lamented. 

“It might do him some good to stop chasing tail and actually learn something this year,” Bobby agreed with a sage nod. 

“At least he always comes top in your class. A real natural at Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Castiek pointed out. 

“Kid could be an auror if he’d just apply himself a bit for the O.W.L.s,” Said Bobby, shaking his head. “And if his dad wasn’t-“ 

Bobby cut himself off and gave Sam a tight smile. Sam, tired of words being thrown around that he had no comprehension of, bid them farewell and headed over into the wand shop. 

Sam took a deep breath and looked up. Surrounded by new things, overwhelmed by new people, and completely alone, Sam Winchester suddenly did not feel magical at all.


	5. The Wand Shop

The inside of Ollivanders was narrow, although the ceiling was high. Row upon row of narrow boxes crammed onto shelves stretched up into the dim, dusty sunlight. Sam looked around, peeking behind the counter and finding no one. Curious, he meandered over the walls and ran his hand over the boxes. A shiver ran up his spine. 

“Searching for something are you?” Came a quiet voice from behind him. A tiny old man with pale bulging eyes like some sort of deep-sea fish was blinking at him from behind the counter. Sam cleared his throat. 

“Er, yes. I need a wand. But I don’t have much money.” Sam turned out his pockets apologetically onto the counter, strange copper pieces clattering against one another. 

“No matter, no matter. We’ll find something for you,” The old man, presumably Ollivander, muttered. “Your name please?” 

“Sam Winchester,” Sam said and the Ollivander’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Ah yes, I sold a wand to your brother. Yew and dragon heart string, fourteen inches, quite rigid. A powerful wand, very loyal, very protective, but a bit… explosive,” The old man rattled off from memory. “He bought his used. We only get a few like that, wands the owners have discarded or outgrown. Very few wizards ever change enough to require a new wand. Well, let’s have a look.”

Ollivander shuffled back into the depths of the store, but returned in a moment with a small stack of very dusty boxes. He set them down onto the counter and Sam coughed as dust erupted into his face. 

“Let’s see, try this one. Oak and unicorn hair, pliable, twelve inches,” Ollivander handed him a wand with a few scratches in the varnished wood. Sam waved it around, feeling completely foolish, but Ollivander snatched it away before he even had a chance to try some magic. 

“No, no, not at all. Of course not. How silly. It’ll have to be longer with all the growing you’ll do. Heavens, it will have to be enormous,” Ollivander exclaimed to himself. Sam’s heart leapt with astonished joy. 

“Let’s see, maybe Pear and phoenix feather, thirteen inches, very swishy.” Ollivander handed him another wand, this one with fewer scratches. Sam pointed it forcefully at the wall, but nothing happened. He felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. Perhaps there had been some horrible mix up and he wasn’t magical at all. They would have to send him home, back to live with his father. 

“No good, no good.” Ollivander lamented, and then paused. “But I could—well, it makes sense. But I would worry. I really would.” With shaking hands, the old man passed Sam a third wand. “Elder wood, very rare. Fourteen and a half inches. Dragon heart string. A wand for an incredible destiny.”

Sam gripped the wand, letting his fingers run over the smooth wood. For a wild moment, he felt as if the stick was judging him, shifting critically beneath his fingers. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and wished desperately. 

Warmth spread up his arm and Ollivander gasped. Opening his eyes, Sam saw a shower of sparks spewing out of the wand. Laughing, Sam raised the wand over his head, sending boxes rocketing off of the shelves. 

“This is amazing!” Sam laughed, but when he turned back to face Ollivander he caught the tail end of a look of deep sadness smoothing back into cultured nonchalance. “How much is it?” 

“Oh, it will cost you enough,” The old man murmured, scooping a few of Sam’s coins off of the table. He hesitated over one, but eventually left it. “Enough, certainly.” 

Sam practically glowed as Ollivander boxed up the wand and handed it to him. A wand felt like proof; proof that he was really magically, really worthy, really part of something solid. He waved at the old wizard as he left the shop, thanking him again and again. 

“Goodbye, Sam Winchester,” Ollivander called after him. “Use it well. But remember, it has already been used.” 

Stuffing the box into his jacket, Sam decided that he didn’t care a bit. The wand was still in fine shape. It had still given him magic. He had what he needed. He had enough. 

When Sam burst out of Ollivander’s back into the blinding brightness of Diagon Alley, he managed to turn straight into the chest of a very tall man striding purposefully down the street. Sam reeled backwards, apologizing profusely, but was caught by two pairs of very strong arms. He became suddenly aware of the tip of a wand menacingly close to his left temple. 

Staring up at the man he had run into, Sam immediately noticed his sweeping black robes and regal demeanor. His face was sharp and lined, a bit of graying hair peeking from beneath his hat, but his smile was bright. 

“Now, now, lads, it’s only a boy,” The man said, lazily waving his hand. The hands released Sam, leaving him staggering for balance, and the wand beside his temple retreated. “My sincerest apologies if my handlers scared you,” The man said politely to Sam. 

“Oh, it’s fine. Sorry,” Sam mumbled, attempting to vanish back into the crowd but finding himself still surrounded. 

“Here to buy your school supplies, I suppose?” The man asked warmly, clapping a firm hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Will it be your first year at Hogwarts?” Sam nodded. “Ah, delightful! You’re in for a real treat this year. Plenty to see at Hogwarts. I’m a close friend of the headmaster. What is your name, lad?” 

“Sam Winchester,” Sam replied shyly. For a moment, the man’s eyes widened and seemed to flash. Then his faced smoothed over. 

“Well, well, well. I know they’re expecting great things from you, Mr. Winchester. Such immense talent in one so… small.” The man laughed approvingly and Sam’s face grew hot. “I’m rooting for you. Although, according to the headmaster, you seem to be the only one in your family with such… potential. Miraculously, your older brother seems to have managed to at least keep himself in school without too much destruction.” Sam’s fists seemed to inadvertently clench. 

“Dean’s done fine,” Sam said shortly. “He could be an auror if he wanted to.” The man threw back his head with a great shout of laughter. 

“Ah, yes, of course! With such powerful faith behind him, how could he fail? Oh, we’ll be watching you, Mr. Winchester. You’ve got an incredible career ahead of you.” The man turned to leave, but added a conspiratorial wink. “And I would know of course.” 

Sam stood as the man and his entourage swept away, rooted to the spot. He could have sworn that before the man had turned to leave, his eyes had changed to an oily yellow. 

“Sam!” The rough voice of Castiel called from behind him and Sam spun around. “We’re all ready to go, have you got the wand?”

“Yes,” Sam answered distantly. “Yes I have one.” Castiel looked at him with some concern, and then squinted at the retreating figures. 

“I say, Sam. You’re getting well connected already. Why on earth were you talking to the minister of magic?”


	6. Friends and Foes

The morning of September 1st was met with a flurry of excitement and a lot of shouting. Sam woke up early and spent most of the morning hanging around the door, longing to get to the train station. Meanwhile, Dean obstinately refused to be ready, running around the tiny hotel room, packing and repacking Sam’s trunk, reorganize Sam’s books to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. 

“Come on, Dean!” Sam groaned, sliding down the wall he was leaning against. “We’ll miss the train!” 

“I’m just making sure you’ve got everything. You don’t want to get to school and realize you might have needed…” Dean cast around for something else to cram into Sam’s overstuffed trunk, “an extra towel!” 

Dean stole one from the motel bathroom and began shoving it in alongside Sam’s cauldron. Sam moaned theatrically, feet jiggling with impatience. 

Dean’s horrible half-feral owl gave an awful shriek from the cage they’d forced it into. The ancient bird had spent most of the summer roaming free and terrorizing the English countryside, but Dean had managed to coax it back by leaving an appetizing buffet of thawing mice beside the open window for a few nights. He’d only received a few scars for his trouble. 

“I’ve got everything, I promise,” Sam pleaded. “I can take care of myself, Dean, I swear I’ll be fine.”

“Listen, Sammy, you are my responsibility—“ Dean began grimly, then paused to consider trying to steal the digital clock. 

It took all of fifteen minutes to convince Dean to grudgingly leave the motel room without further looting. Sam hauled his overfull full trunk down the steps, adding to the intricate network of scratches and nicks scored into the sides. Dean carried his trunk, balancing the screaming owl on top, dangerously close to his face. They were still quite far away from King’s Cross, but Dean miraculously produced money for a cab. Sam thought guiltily of Dean’s late night meetings he sometimes caught him slipping back from, hopefully nothing more dangerous than petty shoplifting or occasionally watching for cops while some of his rougher acquaintances robbed a store. 

The back of the cab smelled like Thai food and Sam’s stomach lurched with every turn their particularly wild tempered cabbie made, but he had been the only one to stop for two boys carrying a rather obvious owl down the street. Staring out of the window, Sam watched the gleaming wonders of London speed by without enthusiasm. The muggle world seemed dull and washed-out to him, a mere shadow in the face of his long awaited destiny. In the back of a smelly cab, he was nothing but Sam the freak, the poor kid with the crazy dad, the scared little boy who couldn’t even help on a hunt, the burden who needed protection. 

Sam smiled a hard smile as he saw the station ahead of them. He was leaving it all behind.

“Ready Sam?” Dean asked as he unloaded their trunks onto a pair of trolleys and pushed them into the crowds of the busy train station. 

“Let’s just get it over with,” Sam sighed and Dean clapped him supportively on the shoulder. 

“You’ll be fine now, you’ve gotten the letter and everything. It should be easy,” Dean reassured him, still faintly amused by Sam’s anxiety. 

Sam had a particular hatred for the entrance to Platform 9 and ¾ after an incident Dean’s first year when he had desperately tried to follow his brother through the solid brick wall between the muggle station and the wizard. It had ended, naturally, in tears and bloody nose and ever since then, Sam had refused to attempt crossing through the barrier. Dean had assured him multiple times that the trick lay in confidence, but Sam was haunted by the memory of his brother vanishing into the wall never to return and his own body simply smashing solidly against the wall. 

“Alright, you first,” Dean said as they approached the barrier between platforms 9 and 10. 

“Actually, maybe I’ll just watch,” Sam said evasively, eyeing the wall with suspicion. 

“C’mon Sammy, don’t be such a girl. Either you give that wall a piece of your mind or I will throw your ass through,” Dean threatened. 

Sam gripped his trolley tightly as he stared down the platform. Muggles walked, unaware, right past the barrier. On a whim, Sam shut his eyes then began to run blindly forward. He ran madly, shoving his trunk ahead of him until he crashed into something and stumbled. 

Gasping and opening his eyes, Sam goggled at the scene around him. He’d run straight through the barrier without even noticing and had collided with a post on the other side. Suddenly, he was surrounded by children with their parents, clad in bright glittering colors. An old-fashioned scarlet steam engine, cloaked in mist, sat in front of him with the words ‘Hogwarts Express’ emblazed on its side. 

Dean strolled through the wall behind him and immediately burst into derisive laughter when he saw Sam sprawled on the ground. 

“Hi Sam!” Came a voice from behind him and Sam spun around until he was staring up at Jess, the blonde girl from the robe shop. “Do you need a bit of help?” Sam flushed crimson and struggled to his feet.

“I’m fine, sorry, I just…” He sputtered, trying to hide his red face as picked up the stray possessions that had burst from his overstuffed trunk. 

“That barrier trick is terrifying,” Jess declared, stooping to help him. “Honestly, I didn’t make it the first time. I just stopped right in front of the wall. Couldn’t work up the nerve for ages. It’s no wonder this old thing tipped over.” 

Sam grinned nervously at her, his heart rate accelerating but his face cooling until he spotted that she was holding one of the obviously stolen motel towels. 

“Oh! I’ve got it. Don’t worry, I can get the rest. Uh, thanks,” he shouted, snatching the towel away and shoving it to the bottom of his trunk. Jess’ face fell a little. 

“I’ll see you later, Sam,” she murmured as she slipped back into the crowd. Sam was left feeling incredibly stupid. 

Meanwhile, Dean seemed to have located a small group of friends including Jo who Sam had met the previous day. 

“You can sit with us if you’d like Sam,” she offered kindly. “We’ve got extra space in the compartment what with Cas being gone.”

“Why doesn’t he sit with you?” Sam asked. Dean’s face darkened a little, trying to pull his mouth into a careless smile, but ending up with a grimace. 

“He’s got to go sit with the other prefects this year. Patrolling around, I suppose. Keeping order.” Dean’s lip pulled into an involuntary sneer. 

“Actually, maybe you shouldn’t sit with us. He’ll just whine passive-aggressively the whole time about his obvious abandonment issues,” Jo whispered to Sam. 

Dean’s rowdy group of friends shoved ahead to the train and Sam floated in their wake, trying to drink up every moment before he was forced to board. Climbing onto the train, Sam found himself swept away by a crowd of students and soon lost track of Dean. Completely alone for the first time in weeks, Sam hesitated, unsure if he should try to join a partially full compartment or try to find an empty one. 

After wandering noncommittally up and down the corridor for several minutes, Sam screwed up his courage and walked in to a partially full compartment, guessing that the occupants were other first years. 

“Hi. Uh, do you mind if I sit in here?” He asked, smiling at the other students. 

“Not at all, mate. Make yourself at home,” said a boy almost shorter than him with a jovial easy grin. He was accompanied by a round-faced girl lounging casually in her seat, a good-looking black boy whose tallness was emphasized by his alert posture, and a mournful looking girl with straight dark blond hair. 

“I’m Sam,” he introduced himself. “I’m a first year.” 

“I’m Andy, we’re all first years,” said the grinning boy, dark round eyes fixed on Sam. 

“Ava,” said the brown-haired girl, voice raspy but pleasant. 

“I’m Jake,” said the tallest boy, patting the seat next to him and inviting Sam to sit. 

“Lily,” muttered the blonde girl, smiling shyly through her hair. 

Sam stowed his possessions away as best he could then settled down next to Jake. He gazed around the compartment, trying to drink in the sights, but his nerves keeping him on edge. 

“Do you know what house you’d like to be in?” Andy asked the compartment at large, flashing his charismatic smile. 

“I don’t really know what they are,” Lily admitted, looking embarrassed. “My parents are muggles and I just found out about all of this.” 

“I’m muggle-born too,” Sam declared boldly, moved by a sudden urge to save Lily from being the only outcast. “But my older brother goes here, so I know a little about the houses. Do you want me to explain them?” Lily nodded, casting a thankful smile at Sam that made him feel very warm inside. 

“Yeah, I’d like to hear it too,” Jake mentioned. “All my dad ever talks about his how great Ravenclaw is because that’s the house he was in. Might be good to get a balanced perspective. 

“Well, my brother’s a Gryffindor which means he’s kind of an idiot and a huge showoff, but he’s only doing it to save people, you know, trying to be brave for them. And he says Slytherin is their rival house, supposed to be ambitious and cunning, and they’ve produced more dark wizards than any other house. There’s also Ravenclaw where they put the people who really care about learning and books and stuff. And Hufflepuff, which I guess is for loyalty and hard work or something, but my brother seems to think they’re just a joke,” Sam explained, eliciting giggles from Andy and Ava who seemed to already know a bit about the stereotypes. 

“I’ll probably make Hufflepuff,” Lily said glumly as though the pronouncement would seal her doom. 

“And I definitely won’t get Ravenclaw,” Jake lamented. 

“I don’t think it matters,” declared Andy, “who’s to say that what some old hat says about your personality will be completely correct for the rest of your life.” 

The train began to move and all five of them rushed to the window to watch as the station slowly fell away behind them. Sam’s heart leaped with excitement as the train picked up speed, the countryside beginning to blur as they headed north. 

The conversation turned away from Hogwarts as Ava started telling a funny story involving a bizarre dream she’d had. Sam laughed along with the rest of them, feeling a sort of twinge in his stomach. After years of spending most of his time drifting around the country, caring for himself, and keeping his family secret, Sam had almost forgotten how lonely he was. The condition had become so omnipresent that he’d ceased to notice the twisting pain of solitude. And then suddenly he was surrounded by people, people who reached out and tried to connect with him, people who didn’t pronounce him a freak immediately when they saw him fight or heard him speak, and most importantly, people he would be staying with for the entire year. 

Sam suddenly felt an embarrassing lump in his throat and his eyes felt hot and prickly. Ava seemed to notice, casting him a concerned look. 

“So Sam,” she addressed him, “where are you from? I haven’t heard an accent like yours before.” 

“My dad’s from America,” Sam said, blushing and regaining his composure. “I was born there, but we moved to England after my mom died to… continue the family business. She was English, although her family is all dead. And my dad travels a lot for work.” 

Ava nodded and seemed to accept Sam’s well-practiced vague story, which while not entirely a lie, strayed away from the important bits of the truth. She seemed like she was about to add more, but at that moment the compartment door opened and a tall gangly boy with atrocious straggly hair came stumbling in.

“Oi, first years. Merlin’s beard!” He exclaimed, looking around. “Mind if I squeeze in, I’ve been… made unwelcome in my former compartment.” 

Silently, Sam and his classmates squeezed together and allowed the tall boy room to sit. He had a rough look to him, although a bit sleepier than some of the boys Dean had helped to procure certain items. 

“I’m Ash. I’m a third year. And I’ve almost been kicked out of school three times,” the newcomer introduced himself, smiling unconcernedly. 

“For what?” Jake asked. 

“Well, a word from the wise, mate, they don’t take kindly to some of my more… experimental spells. But they can’t get rid of me yet, I’ve got an unfortunate habit knowing things I shouldn’t, you know, secret passage ways, shortcuts, the personal choices of professors…” Ash explained, his manner grandiose. 

Sam smiled a little doubtfully at Ash, unsure what to make of him. There was something of the mad genius about him, after you looked past the horrible haircut. 

“So have you all heard the big news for this year?” Ash asked. 

“Should we know about it?” Sam asked, eyebrows drawing together. Ash gave a bark of laughter. 

“Well, it’s printed in the news. According to the Daily Prophet, the ministry is sending dementors into the school this year to help guard some sort of big powerful object the headmaster has been hiding in the castle. It’s all very mysterious of course… although for how long?” Ash lowered his voice dramatically and waggled his eyebrows around. 

“What’s a dementor?” Lily asked nervously. 

“They’re these cloaked monsters, invisible to muggles, but we’ve never run into one,” Sam answered immediately, and then hurried to explain his suspicious knowledge. “I read about them somewhere. No one ever sees them. They all guard the prison. So that’s why we’ve never seen any; most people haven’t of course.” 

“Right.” Ash said, casting Sam a strange look. “What’s your name again?”

“I didn’t say,” said kept his eyes fixed on Ash’s, jaw set in calm determination. “But I’m Sam Winchester.” 

Ash’s eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t say a word. The rest of the compartment relapsed into general conversation, Ash and Andy keeping up a constant banter of funny anecdotes usually involving magical mishaps. As Andy explained an incident involving his great aunt, a failed attempt to trim hedges, several unexplained lightning strikes, and some sort of gnome riot, Ava slipped out of her seat and moved over next to Sam. 

“You’re a bit of an enigma, Winchester. I’m not sure what to make of you. Rather contradictory, muggle-born but you know all the secrets. Trying to pass yourself off as normal, when you don’t really want to be,” Ava whispered, making the hair on the back of Sam’s hair rise. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam answered coldly. “I’m just trying to fit in. Just want to be left alone.” Ava laughed, rolling her eyes. 

“Normal? Please. I can see it written all over you, Sam, you hate being like everyone else. You don’t want to be the freak, but you do want to be… exceptional. Special,” Ava murmured. “I’ll be watching where that hat puts you.” 

With an innocent giggle, Ava slid back to her seat and laughed uproariously at the conclusion to Andy’s story. Sam clenched his fists, trying to stifle his fury at the unwarranted attack. 

Before he could retort, there was a knock on the compartment door and Ash sprang to answer it. An elderly witch stood on the other side, pushing a trolley laden with very odd looking sweets and cakes. 

“Brilliant!” Ash beamed. “I’m starving!” 

Sam sat uncomfortably in his seat while the other students swarmed over the cart, exclaiming over things like “cauldron cakes” and “pumpkin pasties.” When they’d all purchased food, the old witch shut the compartment door and rolled away. Sam stared, fascinated by all of their unusual sweets. 

Andy opened a box and what seemed like a live frog came jumping out while he lamented getting Merlin again on the trading card. Ava ate several of what appeared to be jelly beans with marked suspicion until suddenly and violently spitting one out. Ash chugged down a large amount of pale orange liquid. Jake chewed on what appeared to be a magic wand fashioned out of licorice. Lily sat down next to him and muttered in his ear.

“I didn’t know what to get so I bought a bit of everything. Do you fancy sharing? I can’t eat it all.” 

Sam broke into a grin and felt a sensation between pain and joy seize his chest. The rest of the train ride he spent trying the food, experimenting with the occasionally dreadful every flavor beans, and laughing so hard he nearly forgot to don his Hogwarts robes as they approached the school. 

When the train finally ground to a halt, Sam peered out of the window but saw nothing but the vague outlines of buildings in the darkness. His robes swept around him as he moved, making him feel both very small and very important. He tried to stick with the others in his compartment, but in the rush to get off of the train they were swept away into the crowd. Caught in a dark mass of robed bodies, Sam gave up and surrendered to the pull. 

“First years! First years with me! Come along, all first years come with me,” a gentle voice called over the crowd and Sam struggled towards it. When he shoved his way to the edge of the mass, he saw an older man dressed in regular workman’s clothes holding a lantern that cast a warm yellow light on his kindly face. He had a beard sprinkled with grey cropped close to his face and dark serious eyes. 

The group of first years huddled in front of him, bathed in the light of his lantern as the older students filed past, heading out of the little station. Sam strained to catch a glimpse of the castle, but it was blocked from his view on every side. 

“Alright, is that everyone?” The man with the lantern said as the last few students trickled off of the train. “Good. Follow me, then. I’m Joshua, the school groundskeeper. If you’ll all just follow me, we’ll be taking a separate route to the castle.” 

The first years followed Joshua down a winding path, eventually walking down a little pebble track sloping down to the water. A series of little boats were waiting for them, bobbing on the smooth dark surface of the water. Joshua shepherded them into the boats, and they began to glide across the lake. 

“I hear there’s some sort of monster in this, a giant squid.“ Sam heard a girl’s voice ringing out over the water. It took a moment for him to identify it as Lilith, the girl who’d attacked him in Diagon Alley. Sam frowned, hoping that she was lying. 

“Look!” Called several students at once and Sam raised his head from scrutinizing the surface of the lake for tentacles, trying to remember everything his father had ever mentioned about killing malicious sea monsters. But all thoughts of hunting flew from his mind when he saw what lay ahead. 

Glowing on the horizon was a beautiful castle. Its spires and towers trailed up into the darkness, while the lights twinkled in the windows like stars. Sam couldn’t breathe for a moment as his face lit up. The glory and wonder of the lights sparkling from the sky washed over him, like a distant memory of a bonfire night long ago. 

Joshua helped them to land the boats with skill and guided them onto the shore. The line of first years trekked up to the gates of the castle, straining their necks back with awe. As the doors to the castle opened, Sam caught a glimpse of a marble entrance hall, filled with long staircases trailing away in every direction. 

“First years! Move along now, let’s hurry along,” the sharp voice of a woman rang out through the entrance hall. A handsome older woman in velvet robes stood beckoning them at the top of the staircase. She had well coifed chestnut hair and keen eyes that clearly missed nothing. Her mouth stretched into an irritable line, although the smile lines around the edges belied her strict demeanor. Sam instantly thought of Jo, and assumed that this must be her mother. 

“Welcome, I am Professor Harvelle. In a moment you will all be entering through these doors and getting sorted. I’ll need you all to get in alphabetical order before we enter the great hall,” she called out clearly over the chatter of the other students. 

Sam was last in line as they filed into the hall. He craned his neck upwards to look for the famous ceiling that reflected the sky, and caught a dizzying glimpse of the stars dotted with floating candles. The older students already sat at the long tables and Sam spotted Dean waving madly at him from the Gryffindor table. As they passed the Slytherins, Ruby caught his eye and gave him an encouraging smile. 

“Birch, Aaron,” Professor Harvelle called up and a nervous looking boy stumbled forward and sank onto a little stool. Professor Harvelle placed a rather ragged hat onto his head and let it sit there for a moment. Abruptly a tear in the hat opened and a reedy voice called,

“Hufflepuff!” The Hufflepuff table cheered as Aaron staggered over and sat with them.

Sam was suddenly seized terror at the thought of the hat rooting around in his head. What if it put him in Slytherin? What would Dean say? His mouth went dry as the line inched along endlessly in front of him. 

After several minutes of deliberation, Andy was sent to Ravenclaw. Lily headed off to Hufflepuff. 

“Moore, Jessica,” Professor Harvelle read and Jess stepped up to the hat, blonde curls bouncing. She closed her eyes while the hat considered her. 

“Ravenclaw!” The hat decreed and Jess’ face broke into a grin as she skipped off to their table. 

“Morgenstern, Lilith,” Proffesor Harvelle listed next and the tiny girl barely let the hat touch her head before it yelled out.

“Slytherin!” 

Sam’s heart began to sink. What if he was in Slytherin with Lilith? What if he had to see her every day? 

Jake was sorted into Gryffindor to his dismay, although he looked pleased as Dean and his friends cheered wildly and clapped him on the back until he was knocked into a seat. 

“Wilson, Ava,” Ava walked over the sorting hat and Sam realized he was the last person left. The hat took a long time with Ava, and she seemed to be whispering something to herself as she sat on the stool. At last the hat opened it’s tear and decreed,

“Slytherin!” 

Filled with a sense of dread, Sam marched forward as Professor Harvelle called his name. She placed the hat over his shaggy hair and it sank low over his ears. Suddenly, he heard a little voice. 

“Well, well, well, very interesting. Certainly intelligent, but very ambitious as well. A longing to prove yourself, a desire for strength. Although you seek knowledge, yes quite a sharp mind, very eager. Perhaps you might do well in Slytherin?”

“No!” Sam thought wildly. “Anything but Slytherin. Please.” 

“Have it your way then. I’m sure you’ll do just as well elsewhere.” The little voice conceded and the hat cried, “Ravenclaw!” 

Sam was so stunned that for a moment he forgot to move. However, Professor Harvelle nudged him off of the stool and he numbly managed to walk to the applauding Ravenclaw table. The moment after he had collapsed into his spot he discovered that he was sitting right next to Jess.

“Brilliant! Little Winchester the Ravenclaw!” Whooped a familiar voice and Ash appeared next to him, ruffling his hair. Jess turned from talking to Andy on her other side and smiled. 

“Hi Sam! Congratulations on being a Ravenclaw apparently,” she said, then frowned and helped him to flatten his hair a little, causing his heart to pound. 

“Yeah, great,” Sam gasped, dazed. “Smart, that’s good. Just smart.” 

Jess laughed at his dull surprise, then the table quieted as the headmaster, who looked alarmingly like Sam’s father, stood to give his welcoming speech. 

“Welcome students. I am Professor Michael Milton, headmaster of Hogwarts. I’ll try to keep this brief before the feast begins. I should tell you that Mr. Gordon Walker, our caretaker, has asked me to remind you that all Zonko’s products will be confiscated if they are used on school grounds and that of course the forbidden forest remains off limits to any students. I would also like to announce that the ministry will be sending dementors onto school grounds this year to help with the protection of important magical artifacts, but we are taking every precaution to ensure that their presence does nothing to disrupt the education of any student. Finally, I would like to extend a welcome to all of our new students and wish them a productive and incident-free first year.” The headmaster spoke in a deep ringing voice, his tone flat and unreadable. However, Sam noticed several professors at the teacher’s table shifting uncomfortably at the mention of dementors. 

Abruptly, food appeared on the gleaming dishes in front of them. Some of the first years leapt in shock, but most immediately began loading their plates with the steaming array of pies, roasts, casseroles, and puddings. 

By the time Sam had finished scraping the last of his treacle tart off of the plate, a tall dark haired girl had stood up and was beckoning the first years to follow her. 

“That’s Lisa Braeden,” Ash snickered in Sam’s ear. “Ravenclaw prefect and quidditch captain.” 

Sam got up to follow her, but someone grabbed his arm from behind. He spun around to see Dean beaming at him. 

“Sammy! What a hat stall! You took ages up there, and you still came out a nerd,” Dean teased. 

“It couldn’t chose,” Sam replied earnestly. “I had to pick one.” Dean’s face seemed to fall a little, his eyes narrowing. 

“Where did it want you to go at first?” Dean asked, forcing his voice in a casual tone. Sam puzzled for a moment of Dean’s veiled distress, then realized he was worried Sam had deliberately turned down Gryffindor. That accounted for the abandoned hurt in Dean’s eyes; he’d had his hopes dashed. Sam had abandoned him. 

“It tried to put me in…” Sam trailed off, remembering that horrible moment where he’d almost been Slytherin. “Hufflepuff!” Dean’s eyebrows shot up and then he fell into hysterics. 

“Hufflepuff! Brilliant! It tried to put you—Oh Sam that’s hilarious!” Dean laughed, masking his relief with laughter. Sam tried to laugh, desperate to leave the lie behind him. 

“I think I have to go up to the dorm now,” Sam said tugging away. “But… I really wish, you know, I wish I could go with you.” 

Dean abruptly drew him into a hug, and tears sprang to Sam’s eyes. He clung to his brother for a moment, longing to be a Gryffindor and be with his big annoying brother and his funny loud friends. 

But in a moment, he was headed up the staircase alone, climbing up and up into the darkness.


	7. The Dark Arts

Sam awoke the next morning stretched luxuriously across the soft four-poster bed he’d been given. A dream hovered at the edge of his memory, no more than the faint wisp of an impression, an image of doctor and patient, bottles of pills, yellow eyes. The other Ravenclaw boys had mostly awoken and were rustling around pulling long black robes over their heads. Sam hurried to get up and dressed, listening to the wind howling around the high tower they slept in. 

Sam and the other boys poured out into the common room, a spacious room with high ceilings, and encountered most of the girls, huddled around the enormous window that looked out onto the castle grounds. Jess was at the front, exclaiming over the distant gleam of the lake.

“Oh, it looks so beautiful, I’d love to go take a swim.” Jess sighed to one of the other girls. 

“I hear there’s a giant squid in it,” Sam blurted out. Jess cast him a despairing look. 

“Do you have something against me, Sam? Because I honestly can’t figure out why you have to spoil everything,” she snapped and flounced away, head held high. Sam half-heartedly tried to catch up and apologize, but as soon as he exited the Ravenclaw common room, he was immediately struck by the incredible staircase winding down below, the walls covered in stirring and yawning portraits, and the poltergeist who dropped several salamanders onto his head. 

Sam began to climb down the stairs, lurching over to the rail when one staircase began to move. The concept of living in a castle still seemed foreign after a string of unrelated motel rooms. The very idea of having so many rooms was mystifying to him.

Luckily, before he got completely lost, trying to pry open a locked broom cupboard, Dean and Castiel spotted him as they tramped down the stairs from Gryffindor tower. 

“Ready for your first day? All set to cast some spells, work wonders?” Dean asked dryly, rubbing his eyes. His bronze hair was rumpled and his uniform sloppily hung from his tall frame. Castiel, despite his brisk and alert morning manner, also wore his hair in a bird’s nest and his tie seemed to be deliberately backwards. 

“Are we expected to really do magic on the first day?” Sam asked, alarmed. 

“Don’t worry Sam, you’ll most likely fail to achieve anything today,” Castiel said bluntly. 

“And they wonder why I’m so tactful,” Sam grumbled under his breath. 

Dean and Castiel seemed to effortlessly navigate a series of staircases and corridors, pointing out shortcuts and trick stairs to Sam as they went. When they entered the great hall, already full of students feasting on bacon, eggs, kippers, and toast, Dean and Castiel split off and joined the Gryffindor table. 

Sam gazed up at the ceiling, this morning a hazy blue, and watched nervously as a pale transparent form drifted above the tables. Sam remembered how Dean had come home first year railing about ghosts being allowed to exist with the students in the castle. Sam viscerally revolted against the idea of ghost toleration. John had spent too many years indoctrinating him into the life where all ghosts were vengeful and psychotic. As Sam took his seat at the Ravenclaw table, he eyed the swooping form of the fat friar a table over, wondering if the professors knew how easily he and his brother could eliminate it. 

“Hey, Sam.” A voice interrupted his reverie and he jumped. Sam turned in his seat to see Ruby standing behind him. Her dark hair tumbled around her smiling face and her uniform was impeccably neat. “I told you I’d see you at school. Don’t think you can avoid me so easily just by being in Ravenclaw.”

“I can’t help what the hat picked!” Sam protested weakly. 

“I’m not so sure about that. But I won’t hold it against you,” Ruby whispered jokingly. “How does your schedule look today?”

“I have transfiguration first thing, then potions, and-“ Sam listed, relieved that the conversation had shifted back to safe territory. 

“Ah, potions with the Slytherins no doubt,” Ruby nodded. “If Lilith gives you any trouble, you let me know. I’m just itching for an excuse to bring her down today.”

“If she’s in your house, shouldn’t you be friends?” Sam asked, puzzled by Ruby’s militant dislike of an admittedly obnoxious person. 

“Ah, right, like all of the friends I see you’ve made in your house,” Ruby said sarcastically, gesturing to the empty spaces on the bench next to Sam. Sam flushed and turned away. “Hey, I’m not a big fan of my house either. So we’re strange bedfellows I suppose, but friends nonetheless.” Ruby raised one of her sharply defined eyebrows. 

“Am I your friend or your ally?” Sam asked. Ruby looked hurt. 

“Maybe I haven’t done much to prove it yet Sam, but I swear I’m not just using you to settle some petty grudge. You’re… different. I like that.” Ruby smiled as Sam considered. “Now go back to marveling at your breakfast like you’ve never seen a real poached egg before and I’ll see you later.” 

Sam’s mind whirled as Ruby sauntered back to the Slytherin table. Mentally, he weighed the facts in an attempt to devise a rational reason for her to seem so convincing to him. As he watched Jess at the other end of the table, calmly buttering her toast, a sharp pang of anger brought clarity to his thoughts. Ruby was just as much of a freak as he was, and if he had any faith in himself, he had to have faith in her. 

Savagely, Sam attacked one of his eggs, trying to forget years of candy bars and tea for breakfast. 

After choking down a few eggs, Sam rose with the other first years to find his classroom. Giving up completely on navigating for the day, Sam managed to follow a few of his fellow Ravenclaws to Transfiguration class. Sam took a seat at the back of the room and perused his textbook as the other students filed in, laughing and chatting. 

“Alright, enough jabbering, let’s get to work!” An authoritative voice rang out through the room and Professor Harvelle emerged from her office. Her hair fell loose under a tall sharply pointed hat and her chin jutted out as she surveyed the class. “Today, we will be discussing the most basic element of transfiguration. We will focus both on the theory, and some practical application. We shall define transfiguration as the changing the form of an object to that of another. Now, who can tell me the most important elements of transforming an object?” 

The class sat silent, stunned. Professor Harvelle raised her eyebrows. Slowly, Andy raised his hand. She nodded curtly at him.

“According to Emeric Switch, weight, viciousness, wand, and concentration,” Andy listed calmly. Other students began scrabbling through their textbooks, trying to find the quote. Andy smiled his dreamy smile and looked faintly pleased with himself.

“Well, I suppose there is a reason you’re a Ravenclaw after all Mr. Gallagher,” Professor Harvelle said with a disarming grin. “Correct. For today’s transfiguration, I urge you all to focus on concentration and willpower. You must force the object to change with nothing, but your own strength of will. The question is, are you strong enough?” She elegantly tapped an empty seat towards the front, which immediately became a bicycle. 

For the rest of the class, they practiced turning matchsticks into needles. Sam spent most of the class period feeling utterly idiotic shouting at a stick of wood that stubbornly refused to be anything but a stick of wood. However, no one else in the class had much success and Sam recalled Castiel’s prophesies of failure. 

As the class wound to a close, with only Jess managing to turn her match a dull grey, Sam grew increasingly frustrated. Professor Harvelle seemed about to release them, with Sam having nothing so show for the past hour but a sweaty red face and an unchanged match. A suddenly burst of fury seized Sam and he jabbed his wand at the match. It abruptly became a shining metal needle. 

For a moment, Sam was so surprised that he forgot to call the professor. The other students began to exclaim and crowd around him, but Sam sat in shock. Professor Harvelle appeared suddenly at his shoulder. 

“Excellent work Mr. Winchester, five points to Ravenclaw. Class dismisse,” She pronounced. The rest of the class got up, some apparently impressed while other obviously jealous. 

Sam walked down to his first potions class in a warm daze. Dean passed him on the way down, and did a comically exaggerated double take at Sam’s joy. 

“Last time I felt that happy about potions, Sammy, it was the last class of the year.” Dean remarked, seemingly unaware that his eyebrows were very singed and that his quills had transformed into several leeks. 

“I made a needle,” Sam beamed breathlessly.

“Of course you did, you’re a genius.” Dean said and clapped Sam on the shoulder, spilling a few leeks onto the floor. “Seriously though, I’m proud. I didn’t manage to do anything to that match until a week later when I turned it into a shrew. It was very surprising.” 

Abruptly, Castiel appeared behind Dean, his face grim as usual. He nodded to Sam. 

“He made the needle, Cas!” Dean exclaimed to his friend. Castiel frowned and tilted his head.

“You are very talented Sam. And very strong already,” Castiel said and then silently vanished back into the crowd. Dean shrugged. 

“He just does that sometimes. Randomly pops up and disappears before you can get much out of him. See you later, Sammy,” Dean said and hurried off up the stairs. 

Certain that nothing could spoil his mood, Sam continued down the stairs. He only had to wander the corridors pathetically for a few minutes before finding the potions dungeon.

The classroom was very different from his transfiguration room. The walls were stone and the air was chilly. Torches provided the light and cast an eerie wavering quality on the faces of the students. Most of the others had already taken their seats, the Ravenclaws all together in a pack at the front. Sam sat as close as he could to them, choosing a place with another empty seat next to it. 

The door opened again and Sam looked up, hoping to see the professor. However, it was Lilith who walked in, smiling beautifully as she sank down in the seat next to Sam. 

“Ah, the little mudblood that could. So glad you made it, we were all very concerned that you’d find the place,” Lilith simpered. Sam tried to ignore her by immersing himself in the potions text book. But Lilith did not give up so easily. 

“What a charming cauldron. Did you steal it? Or does your mum make soup with it?” Lilith inquired and a few Slytherins behind him sniggered. “Oh, so sorry, I just remembered you’re a Winchester. So your mum’s dead.” 

Sam felt angry abruptly burning inside of him, his fist clenching, his vision blurring. Luckily, before he could act, the door banged open and a man in black robes swept into the room. 

The potions master was a stout man with short dark hair and a high black collar on his robes. His eyes were round and shrewd, his thick brows arching over them in a permanent expression of condescension. 

“I am Professor Crowley. Welcome to potions.” Said the professor, his voice very low and gravelly, yet surprisingly soft. “In this class you will learn the subtle art of brewing, mixing, and concocting substances that can shape your destiny and raise you to the top. However, I sincerely doubt that many of you will grasp more than the simple process of adding ingredients to your moronic soup. So let me warn you now, the first person I catch mucking around in my class, well, there will be less than pleasant consequences. So let’s not make a mess.” Professor Crowley finished silkily. He flashed a grin at the petrified class. 

“Now, who can tell me about curing boils?” Crowley asked. Every hand shot up obediently. Crowley smiled again. 

When class ended, Sam seized his books and hurried out of the room before Lilith had the chance to say a word to him. He sprinted up a few flights of stairs before slowing down, panting, sure that she couldn’t follow him. 

The rest of Sam’s classes that week were a mixed bag. He enjoyed Herbology mainly due to the casual brilliance of Professor Jody Mills with her practical warm demeanor and interesting lessons. He did well in Professor Jim Murphy’s charms class. However, Professor Devereaux, the astronomy professor, was an unpleasantly grumpy old man who regarded the first years as incompetent insects unworthy of his time. History of Magic with Professor Alistair was pure torture. Every lecture he gave rambled on and on until most of the class was asleep and then suddenly he would spring a question on an unsuspecting student, rebuking them for not paying attention. 

The best class of the week was Defense against the Dark Arts. When Sam entered the classroom, he plucked up his courage and sat in the front. Andy sat in the seat next to his and he smiled invitingly. Sam waved tentatively. 

“How are the classes going so far?” Andy asked. Sam shrugged. 

“Alright,” He said noncommittally, then ventured further. “I didn’t really like Professor Alistair much.” 

“I know!” Andy groaned appreciatively. “That man’s a sadist.” 

The conversation was cut off when Professor Singer entered the room. Unlike the other professors, he made no attempt at an impressive entrance, merely shuffling in and setting a pile of books on his chaotic desk. 

“Ok, ok, quiet down,” He grumbled and the chatter slowly faded to silence. Professor Singer looked as tired and ragged as always, but there was a twinkle barely concealed in his blue eyes. “Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts, the class where you’ll learn things you’ll probably never use, but if you do will save your life. I’m not here to scare you with old stories; I’m here to prepare you for a world that’s a little less tame than you’d all like it to be. This year we will focus on minor defensive spells and occasionally some dangerous creatures. Although if you’re interested in the creatures, I recommend you take Rufus, er, Professor Turner’s class your third year.” 

Professor Singer wasn’t much of an inspiring speaker, but his plain-talking honesty still held the class rapt. The old man scratched his beard, apparently making a decision on how to continue his lecture. 

“Now I’d like to get one thing settled before we begin the year. In this class, we will do some minor dueling practice. You will be partnered with other students and asked to practice certain spells. I cannot stress enough how important it is to take care of your fellow students and yourself on these days.” Professor Singer gave them all a piercing gaze. “Because I want to keep you safe. And I want you to keep yourself safe. It’s important.” 

Many people began to fidget. The genuine concern in Professor Singer’s voice seemed to have taken many of them by surprise. Sam, to his horror, felt his eyes well up a little when he caught the old professor smiling directly at him. It began to dawn on him that this was why he was clearly Dean’s favorite teacher and vice versa. Professor Singer cleared his throat and moved on briskly. 

“So, who can tell me what they might do to defend themselves in a fight?” He asked. The class sat silent. “Oh, come on, you must have some idea. Say something!” 

Sam mentally listed all the ways John had taught him to do just that over the years, but stayed silent in hopes of preserving his secret. 

“Stun them?” Andy suggested.

“Yes, you could do that, but what could you try first?” Professor Singer probed. 

“A shield maybe?” Jess asked. 

“Good, good. But what’s the simplest way to end the conflict?” 

Still, no one spoke and Sam’s tentatively raised his hand. 

“Winchester?” Professor Singer asked. 

“Um, well, you could disarm them. If you can take their wand, you could end the fight pretty quickly,” Sam said. 

“Exactly. Five points to Ravenclaw,” Professor Singer said. “And there is a spell for just that. I want you all to repeat after me: Expelliarmus.” 

The class responded in a unison drone. Professor Singer rolled his eyes. 

“You can’t just politely ask that wand to pirouette into your hand. You’ve got to command it! Again!” 

The class recited the spell with more enthusiasm. Professor Singer sighed despairingly. The class bellowed the enchantment at full volume. Professor Singer’s eyebrows rose slightly.

“Well, it’ll do for now. Next up, wand movement.” 

Sam stayed behind for a moment after the class ended, not sure if he actually had a question to ask the professor or if he really just wanted to see more of him. 

“Hey, Sam. Nice job today. You’ll be disarming in less than a month,” The professor said, dropping the formality of his tone. 

“Thanks, Professor Singer, or, er, Bobby,” Sam grinned, sputtering over the name. 

“I know you’re still getting your bearings around here, settling in a little, probably feeling like an idiot most of the time, but I’d like to make you an offer,” Bobby said, coming around to the other side of his desk. “Your brother and I have been doing some special lessons, just once a week or so, to teach him a few things that might be useful in… your father’s line of work.” 

Sam’s heart leapt with fear.

“You mean business? Because he’s a salesmen? Who sells things? Spells to sell? Sell spells?” Sam blabbered, feeling caught like a rat in a trap surrounded by several spotlights and possibly helicopters. Bobby chuckled sarcastically. 

“I was mainly referring to the part where he successfully evades the statute of secrecy and spends his time driving around the country hunting monsters,” Bobby said. 

“How did you-?” Sam began. 

“Your brother told me. Took me about a two years to get it out of him, but he spilled. From day one, there was something strange about that kid. He knew too much. He’d seen too much. Reminded me of-“ Bobby abruptly cleared his throat. “Well, that doesn’t matter. The point is would you like to join our lessons? Or would you rather concentrate on… sell spells.” 

“I want to join,” Sam said cautiously. “But I don’t want to be a hunter. I escaped.”

“That’s fine, it’ll do you good no matter where you end up,” Bobby said gently. “Now I’ll stop scaring you and let you get along with the day.”

He waved Sam out of the classroom. Sam’s relief was so immense, that he nearly walked right past Ruby who had been waving wildly at him from across the hall. 

“Sam! How have your classes been?” Ruby called, catching up to him.

“Actually pretty good. Except for History of Magic, that was-“ 

“Unrelenting horrible torture?” Ruby said, raising her eyebrow. 

“Yes, and I sat next to Lilith in potions,” Sam said with a meaningful shake of his head. Ruby tensed. “She mentioned my mum.” 

“She’s evil,” Ruby hissed. “We have to do something. Put her in her place. You have to beat her.” 

“I don’t see what I can do,” Sam shrugged. “I’m just trying to get through the year.” 

Ruby grabbed his arm and faced him, her black eyes boring into his. 

“We’re going to take her down, Sam, don’t you worry. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve I can teach you.” Ruby smirked, then suddenly darted in and kissed Sam on the cheek. Blood rushed to his cheeks and Ruby slipped away into the crowd. 

Sam walked back to Ravenclaw tower in a haze. He’d barely gotten through all of his classes, but he’d already found out there was so much else to learn.


	8. The Headmaster

The next few weeks of classes went well for Sam. He learned quickly, most other students recognizing that he would come top in everything. Outside of class, his rapport with Andy developed to the point where they could sit together at meals and do their work in between classes sitting companionably in the Ravenclaw common room. 

However, Potions was becoming unbearable. He found it almost impossible to concentrate with Lilith hissing barbs of cruelty into his ear, and more than once he messed up simple instructions. Professor Crowley seemed to regard him as unstable and a troublemaker, frequently calling him out and mocking his less than successful attempts. Worse still, the school caretaker seemed to have developed a grudge against him after working late to scrub off a particularly stubborn stain. When Sam told Ruby of his problem, she began smuggling him extra potions ingredients that he would surreptitiously slip into Lilith’s cauldron, rendering her potions useless, although Professor Crowley never complained about her efforts. 

The best part of his week became Bobby’s extra Defense Against the Dark Arts training sessions. Dean, although he refused to admit it, was something of a natural when it came to defensive magic and he and Bobby made sure that Sam stayed miles ahead of the other first years. Castiel usually attended as well, diligently practicing alongside Dean, although retaining his skulking taciturn nature. 

In the third week of term, Sam sat in an unused classroom, studying theory while Dean demonstrated practical applications of shield charms with Castiel. Just as Dean managed to block one of Castiel’s devastating stunning spells, the door swung open and Jess poked her head in.

“Oh, sorry. I must be in the wrong room. Still get turned around,” she laughed apologetically. Sam leapt to his feet and seized his books.

“What are you trying to find? I could show you,” he blurted out before she could leave. 

“I’m supposed to see Professor Alistair in his office,” Jess said glumly. 

“Oh, I know where it is,” Sam said, relieved that he actually did. “I’ll walk you there.” 

Dean cast Sam a funny look while Bobby rolled his eyes and shooed Sam out of the room. Jess shifted awkwardly. 

“So how have you been?” Sam asked breathlessly as he set off down the corridor. 

“Alright. I’m doing well, except I’m almost failing History of Magic,” Jess murmured, looking at her shoes. 

“I think most of us are,” Sam said, then paused for a minute. “Uh, I guess I should say I’m sorry about before. Sorry I was rude. Repeatedly. I was still just, adjusting.” 

“Oh no, I completely understand. I shouldn’t have snapped at you,” Jess said in a rush. “It just seemed like you were trying to drive me away, so I did the same.”

“Misunderstanding,” Sam said, unable to hide his grin as they neared Professor Alistair’s office. He slowed his pace slightly. “I’m not really used to all of this anyways.” 

“Me neither. Although even for a muggle-born, you’re different Sam,” Jess said. Sam’s face fell and it felt like his stomach made a hasty retreat into his shoes. 

“Yeah. I’ve always been,” Sam muttered. 

“Different is good here. Different is nice,” Jess said with a smile. Her hand brushed against Sam’s and he felt his stomach do a U-turn and whizz back up into his throat. “Will you wait for me? We can walk back to the tower together.” 

“Sure,” Sam said dumbly, his mouth dry. “I can walk. Walk to the tower that is.” 

Jess grinned, then squared her shoulders with exaggerated humor. She knocked on the door and when Professor Alistair’s hissing voice called her name she entered. Sam sighed and leaned against the wall.

“Sam Winchester?” Came a severe voice from behind him. He turned to see the Hufflepuff prefect, Zachariah beckoning him. “You are to report to the headmasters office now.”

“I’m waiting for someone!” Sam protested. 

“I’m afraid the headmaster can’t afford to wait for you to escort your little friend home.” Zachariah sneered. “Come along.” 

Miserably, Sam followed Zachariah, glancing forlornly over his shoulder. Zachariah strutted down the corridor, climbing the stairs with his nose in the air, until finally coming to a stop in front of a statue of a griffin. 

“Odo baltoha” Zachariah intoned and the statue leapt aside revealing a spiral staircase. Zacharia stepped aside and gestured that Sam should entered. Still mystified, Sam stepped onto the stairs. Immediately they began to move, sending him revolving upwards. 

When the stairs stopped, Sam stood in front of a large wooden door. He knocked tentatively. 

“Come in,” The headmasters commanding voice called and Sam entered. 

The office was dark and solemn. Slumbering portraits of former headmasters crowded together on the walls and bookcases filled with books loomed from every side. The headmaster sat behind a bare, Spartan desk in a highbacked chair, lidded eyes fixed on Sam. However, there were two chairs pulled in front of the desk, one already occupied by his older brother. 

“Professor Milton?” Sam addressed the headmaster. He smiled tightly at Sam and gestured that he should sit. 

“I suppose you’re both wondering why I’ve called you here. Do not worry, you are not in trouble. I just wanted to take this opportunity to discuss something with you,” Professor Milton said, folding his hands on the desk in front of him. “I understand that it is not uncommon for young wizards such as yourselves to procure many of their school supplies second hand?”

“No. Not uncommon,” Dean grunted, his face pale with anger. 

“Many students even chose to purchase highly personal items such as wands second hand,” The headmaster continued as though Dean had not spoken. “Now I’d like to pose a question to you, where do you think all those wands come from?” 

“Mr. Ollivander said that wizards could change or outgrow them. So they donate them,” Sam mumbled. 

“Indeed they do. But few wizards have such kindness after changing wands. So other sources must be utilized. For example, have you ever heard of the prison Azkaban?” Professor Milton stood and turned to the bookcase, running his hand over the spines. 

“So they take the prisoner’s wand. So what?” Dean said harshly. “Why should it matter where my wand comes from? It’s mine now.” 

“Do not undervalue the past, Dean,” The headmaster said evenly. “Perhaps you might perform better in History of Magic if you spent a little more time learning about the great wizards before you. I’d like to give you both a little extra instruction. Let me tell you a story.” 

The headmaster turned his back to them, bowing his head. Sam turned to glance at his brother. Dean shrugged and rolled his eyes. 

“You’ve no doubt heard about the great Milton family, one of the oldest and most powerful in Britain. I understand you’re good friends with my nephew, Castiel. Well, there were once two brothers in my family who loved each other more than anything. But the younger brother could never get along with his father, feeling abandoned and angry, questioning his orders, and running away to Hogwarts. The older brother tried to follow his father’s wishes and take care of his younger brother, but with his brother in another house with other friends, he could not make him understand,” Professor Milton explained, still not looking at Sam. Yet he could feel all of the headmasters concentration fixed on them. 

“As the younger brother grew up, he made mistakes. He resented his father for loving muggles, feeling that he cared for them more than his own son. So the younger brother did a terrible thing. He broke with his family and began his reign of terror upon the muggle world, killing dozens with dark magic. Only his brother was able to defeat him, to send him off to prison forever. But at such an awful price. The older brother would never be the same,” The headmaster finished, then returned to his desk. 

“And I suppose they gave up their wands?” Dean asked. 

“Yes I did,” Professor Milton said with a smile. “And my brother Lucifer’s was taken. If you wouldn’t mind, Dean, it’s been so long since I’ve seen it. Allow me my nostalgia.” 

Dean’s eyebrows shot up, but he fumbled to produce his wand. A smile broke across the headmaster’s blank face when he saw the wand. His hand stretched out as though he would seize it, but Dean quickly drew it back and returned it to his pocket. A momentary flash of irritation crossed the headmaster’s face before he smoothed it back into a gracious smile. 

“And Sam, I suppose you understand why you’re here now?” Professor Milton looked sharply at Sam.

“I’ve got your brother’s. The one in prison,” Sam said, despair creeping over him as he realized it. 

“That is correct. However, I’ve thought it over. Seeing as these wands are family heirlooms, I feel a certain fondness for them. And it troubles me that you poor boys never got the opportunity to find a wand truly suited to you due to something as ridiculous as economic difficulty.” The headmaster smiled kindly. “So what would you boys say if I proposed finding a scholarship for both of you to get new wands, and you can just had those over to me and my family?” 

Instinctively, Sam’s hand curled tightly around the wand in his pocket. He felt irrationally horrified at the idea of parting with it. The wand was his now; it had chosen him.

“No,” Dean said firmly. “Sorry. I’m doing fine with this wand, thanks very much.”

The headmaster’s eyes narrowed slightly and his smiled curled up in a way that seemed a little less kindly and gentle. He stood up abruptly. 

“Very well. If you reconsider what I might add is a very generous offer, feel free to come and tell me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m very busy.” He swept them unceremoniously out of his office. 

Standing next to each other on the revolving stairs, Sam and Dean let out a long breath in unison. 

“What was that all about?” Sam asked. 

“Haven’t the foggiest,” Dean said casually. “Although now I know our headmaster is a complete dick.” 

“Could we ask Cas?” Sam suggested. “He might know about some of that family stuff.” 

The stairs stopped and they stepped out of the doorway, statue leaping back into place behind them as they set off down the corridor. 

“Do you know where Cas might be now?” Sam asked, looking curiously up at his brother. Dean frowned and creased his brow. 

“I dunno, he usually just sort of shows up when I need him,” Dean mused, shrugging his shoulders. Sam grimaced sarcastically. 

“Well, I think he only ever does that for you,” Sam said as they rounded the corner. 

“Hello Dean.” 

Both of them jumped as Castiel seemed to appear spontaneously in front of them, falling into step with Dean immediately. 

“What did Michael need to ask you?” Castiel asked, tone casual, but a furtive look in his eyes indicating his discomfort. 

“He gave us a little lecture on your family history. Rattled on about himself and his murderous psychopathic little brother because apparently Sammy and I have their wands. I guess he’s having second thoughts about donating them,” Dean explained. Castiel recoiled slightly at the news. 

“You should give him the wands. You can get brand new ones, better quality,” Castiel said quickly. Dean cast him an incredulous look. 

“I’m not going to just get rid of my wand! Why does he even care? Is it just one of your giant crazy family things?” Dean said, stopping in the middle of the corridor. Castiel turned sharply and seized Dean by the tie, jerking him forward roughly. 

“It would be better for everyone if you just gave him the wand,” Castiel said in a low calm voice. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Dean said struggling away. “What happened to free will and not just doing what your family expects?” 

“You don’t understand. You can’t understand,” Castiel said, posture suddenly slumping and voice becoming strained. He turned on his heel and marched away down the corridor. 

“Cas!” Dean called after him, face displaying nothing but absolute confusion. “Damn it.” 

Sam stood stunned beside him. He could see the lines of pain and anxiety begin to tug at his brother’s face for a moment before he smoothed them over and shrugged his shoulders. 

“Well I have no idea what that was all about. It’s just you and me then, Sammy, but I’m sure we can turn something up if we ask the right people. Cas isn’t the only Milton at this school. I can ask his sister, Anna, she’s on the quidditch team with me. And you’d better let me ask the head boy, Raphael, he’s a bit edgy,” Dean began sharply, resuming their walk down the corridor. “You should try asking Gabriel. He’s a seventh year, a Slytherin.” 

“Why do I have to ask him?” Sam asked nervously. 

“Because I’m a Gryffindor, so he hates me on principal. Plus, there was an… incident a few years ago. He’s a bit of a joker, I got a bit upset, especially after the falling piano… well, it would just be better if you asked him,” Dean said. Sam silently rolled his eyes. 

“Oi, you two! Move along now, it’s getting late. Can’t have students wandering around like this,” Gordon Walker, the caretaker, shuffled out of a broom cupboard, grumpily brandishing a few foul smelling rags at them. Dean smirked and raised his eyebrows at Sam before loping off up to Gryffindor tower. Sam gave a long sigh and jogged up stairs towards his own bed. 

It took him a long time to fall asleep. He replayed the conversation with the headmaster on an endless loop as he tossed and turned. When his troubled thoughts finally faded into sleep, his dreams were a murky mass of disturbing images. A jovial neighborhood doctor grinned as he loaded a gun, and Sam woke up suddenly, feeling sweaty and poorly rested. 

Sam left for breakfast earlier than most of his classmates, partially because he wanted to find Ruby and have time to talk to Gabriel, and partially to avoid confronting Jess. As he jogged down the stairs, he nearly collided with a professor staggering under the weight of several crystal balls. She staggered, losing her grip on one of the spheres, but Sam managed to lunge forward and catch it. 

“Thank you!” The professor gasped breathlessly as Sam returned it to her. She looked familiar to him, although he had no classes with her, but he recognized her strong-featured face and slightly roguish grin. “A point for Ravenclaw, Mr. Winchester!”

“How did you-? Uh, sorry professor, do I know you?” Sam asked. The professor laughed, rattling the crystal balls menacingly. 

“Professor Pamela Barnes. And while I could brag about my mystical talents, I also have your brother in class,” Professor Barnes said with a knowing wink. “Although, I can tell already you have incredible natural talent your brother for all his charm can never match. I hope to see you in my class by your third year.”

“And you teach…?” Sam said, still unsure how to react to this extremely casual professor. 

“Divination,” Professor Barnes said over her shoulder as she continued wobbling up the stairs. “And you’ve got it, kid.” 

Sam continued his run down the stairs, trying to shake off the surreal encounter. When he entered the great hall, he glanced up at the gloomy charcoal sky, and then sought out Ruby. She had risen early as usual, and was eating a disgusting greasy breakfast by herself at the end of the Slytherin table. 

“Morning, Ruby,” Sam said as he trotted up. 

“Sam!” Ruby greeted him, then quirked an eyebrow when she saw his face. “I’m assuming this isn’t just a friendly visit. What can I do for you?” 

“I need to find a seventh year named Gabriel,” Sam said. Ruby narrowed her eyes suspiciously. 

“I don’t mean to pry, but what would you want with Gabriel?” Ruby asked. Sam shrugged. 

“Just family stuff,” he said evasively. 

“Well, Gabriel is a bit of an oddball. And not too keen on his family, either. He’s the headmaster’s cousin, you know, but they barely speak. And if I were you, I’d try not to piss Gabriel off,” Ruby warned. 

“Yeah, got it. Now where can I find him?” Sam said impatiently. 

At that moment a pack of rowdy Slytherin boys burst into the great hall and frolicked over to the table. Ruby jerked her head towards a short sandy haired boy with a clever grinning face and twinkling eyes. 

“Next to Balthazar,” she muttered and Sam meandered over to the group, suddenly intimidated by the thought of talking to much older students. Gabriel was laughing, clapping his friends on the shoulder. The boy next to him turned around as Sam approached and gave Sam a thin barely tolerant smile. His eyes were heavily lidded and the curl of his lip exuded both cunning and charm. 

“Gabby, dear, it seem you have little visitor,” said the boy, who Sam assumed must be Balthazar, with a crisp posh accent. 

“Uh, hi, you’re Gabirel Milton, right? I just needed to ask you a question,” Sam said, clearing his throat and shuffling forward. Gabriel barely reacted, merely quirking an eyebrow in Sam’s direction. 

“Well listen here bucko, if you want one of your little friends pranked you’re asking the wrong guy. I don’t do these things on demand, ok? Now sod off,” Gabriel said in a bored voice. 

“It’s about your family,” Sam blurted out. Gabriel froze for a split second, then rolled his eyes and stood up. Standing upright, Gabriel was incredibly short and impish looking, but danger lurked behind his smile, like the shadows of sharks through the water. He guided Sam a few paces away from the table to speak privately. 

“Listen kid, I haven’t talked to most of my family in three years. I’m out. We are separated. End of story,” Gabriel said softly. 

“Oh, uh, sorry. I mean, I get it. I don’t want to pry, but the headmaster called me to see him today. He wanted to buy my wand because he said it belonged to his brother. I just wondered if you knew why,” Sam said. Gabriel frowned. 

“Michael wanted Lucifer’s wand? But why? Not a lot of love left between them after Michael sent his dear brother to prison,” Gabriel asked.

“He said it had sentimental value or something.” Sam said with a shrug. 

“Well I’m just as puzzled as you. Obviously Lucifer’s not going to be needing that wand anytime soon, he’s securely in Azkaban. Although…” Gabriel stroked his chin. “Well there is the daughter.” 

“Daughter?” Sam asked. 

“Big family secret of course. Got to preserve the ancient Milton honor and all,” Gabriel sneered. “Apparently ol’ Luci was pretty busy before heading off to crazy town and fathered some little girl. Rumor has it she’s here at Hogwarts now, in Slytherin. She’s called Lilith. Maybe Michael thinks she might like to get her hands on that wand, and get her dearest daddy out of lockdown.” 

Sam felt his stomach twist as dread washed over him. Pieces of the puzzle were rapidly clicking together in his head. Gabriel’s hard face softened for a minute and he examined Sam with concern. 

“Hey, I’m not trying to scare you, bucko. She’s just a kid! Probably can’t even cast an effective tickling jinx,” Gabriel winked. “And I promise you, not every Slytherin grows up to be a cold blooded baby killer.” 

Gabriel jabbed Sam on the arm a little harder than the typical friendly punch and then launched himself back into his group of friends. 

When Sam joined the Ravenclaw table to finish breakfast, Andy seemed very impressed that Sam had left the encounter unscathed, although Sam noticed that for the next few weeks everything that his left arm encountered had the tendency to turn mysteriously greenish for a few hours. 

Sam ate very little and quickly, hurrying off the moment he spotted Jess entering the great hall. He darted behind a group of third year Hufflepuffs and edged out with them. There was a dreadfully queasy moment as Sam slipped out of the hall when he brushed against the spectral arm of the Gryffindor ghost, but soon he had escaped and he meandered down the stairs to his first class of the day: Potions. 

Not eager to arrive to class early, Sam dragged his feet, pausing frequently to examine the portraits on the walls. Most of them were still getting up, yawning and stretching. Several royal ladies snoozed on their tennis court until the Abbot above them started vigorously blowing his nose. Sam grinned. 

Walking through the maze of halls, his sense of security slowly returned. This was Hogwarts. This was where he belonged. Lilith couldn’t hurt him here, nor could a wizard locked safely in prison for decades. The school was special and it made him special and Sam refused to let anyone spoil his newfound home. A spike of anger shot through him and Sam resolved to consult Ruby about how to subdue Lilith more permanently. 

“Hey Sammy!” Dean’s voice jolted Sam from his stormy thought. “I was hoping to catch you at breakfast; guess what I found out!” 

“Lilith is Lucifer’s daughter and she wants to get his wand back because she’s trying to set him free,” Sam said. Dean’s face fell. 

“Uh, yeah. That’s right. I guess everybody knew,” Dean said. His mouth pulled into a firm line of displeasure and he narrowed his eyes. “Well if she tries to take it, I swear, I’ll rip her lungs out.” 

“Relax Dean, I’m not afraid of her,” Sam said. “As long as she doesn’t have help, I can handle Lilith.”

Sam tramped down the next few steps and was about to round the corner when Dean jerked him back, flattening himself against the wall. Before Sam could squawk indignantly, he heard the faint mutter of voices in the corridor and paused to listen. A low soft voice spoke, but a higher sharper voice intervened. Sam couldn’t make out the words and edged closer.

Slowly, Sam poked his head around the corner and spotted the two speakers hovering together in front of a door. Lilith stood there, her pale hair swaying as she nodded vigorously and grinned. 

And Professors Crowley was shaking her hand.


	9. A Cold Kiss

By late October, the sky had settled into a permanent stormy grey and the wind turned sharp and bitter. Sam and the other first years had to wrap themselves in scarves and hunch their shoulders when they plodded down to the greenhouses for Herbology. 

Yet despite the grim conditions, Ruby still insisted that they meet for long walks around the lake to avoid being overheard. She seemed immune to the cold, dark hair whipping around her face as she marched briskly along, discussing their plans. Sam huddled beside her, arms crossed, as gusts of wind seemed to creep down the collar of his robes. 

Ever since he had discovered that Lilith had found a powerful ally in Professor Crowley, Ruby had proved herself to be an even more vital accomplice for him. She and some unnamed group of assistants had promise to watch Lilith, listening in on her conversations to make sure that her plans were not succeeding. At first, Sam had been driven to distraction, flinching when Lilith sat next to him in class and waking in the night clutching for his wand to reassure himself that it had not vanished. 

However, it was a month later now and it seemed that Lilith had made no more than empty threats with no concrete plan in mind so Sam was beginning to relax. Dean still seemed on edge that Sam spent several hours a day with his potential murderers, and after making up with Castiel in that strange language of long stares they seemed to share, he’d clearly asked his friend to keep an eye on Sam when he wasn’t around. Sam would often catch a glimpse of Castiel’s grim angular face slipping away behind a corner just as he turned. Luckily Sam could find time to meet with Ruby privately when he knew both of them were busy at quidditch practice. 

One such afternoon Sam waited until Dean and Castiel tromped off the quidditch pitch together and then wrapped a scarf around his head and hurried down the stairs to meet Ruby. He’d been experimenting with a spell that created a cheery blue flame that could warm his hands while being easily contained in a jar and he was eager to try it out during the walk. Sam fiddled with the jar as he made for the door, but was stopped in his tracks by Gordon Walker. 

“And where do you think you’re going?” the caretaker asked coolly, holding his mop out to block Sam’s way.

“Out to the lake,” Sam gaped, slightly offended by the irregular hostility. 

“No students allowed out on the grounds today. Headmaster’s orders. They’re bringing in some pretty powerful artifacts and no body is going to mess with the delivery.” Gordon Walker’s mouth pulled slowly into a toothy grin. “Or the guards.” 

Shaken, Sam started back up the stairs towards Ravenclaw tower, but turned when the door burst open behind him. 

“What do they mean no quidditch practice today? This is ridiculous; we’re going up against Ravenclaw in a few weeks! I booked the field in advance, they can’t just kick us off.” A small, red-haired girl dressed in the Gryffindor quidditch uniform exploded as the team piled in behind her. “You’ve been playing like rubbish lately, I had charts, I had plans, I had-“ 

“It’s okay, Anna,” Castiel’s voice interrupted. “We can reschedule. All of us can make time later this week, right?”

“I’ve got-“ Jo began then stopped after receiving seven scathing looks. “Nothing. I’ve got nothing, free as a bird.” 

“Great!” Dean said, shouldering his way in front of Jo. “We can practice later, and I swear we’ll get better. Alright, captain?” Dean wrapped an arm around Anna who smiled faintly and then wriggled away. 

“Hands off, Winchester. I’m not slipping back into bad habits right before we face the best team of the season.” Anna grumbled and stalked off towards Gryffindor tower. 

Sam suddenly realized that he had no good explanation for why he was lurking around the entrance hall so soon after telling Dean that he needed to write a potions essay, and, panicking, dove into an empty classroom. 

To his horror, when Sam turned around the classroom was not entirely empty. Jess was sitting on a desk facing the window, her shoulders heaving with unmistakable sobs. She jumped when Sam slipped in, wiping her face furiously. 

“What are you doing here? Get out!” She hissed. 

“Ah, sorry, sorry, I just needed to hide, I-“ Sam whispered desperately. He noticed Jess was clutching a bundle of letters. “Are you missing home?”

“What do you care?” Jess asked bitterly. “You’ve got your cool older brother here. You’re the best in every class. You’ve got no time for anyone else.” 

“Look, it’s like I told you! I was called to the headmaster’s office!” Sam pleaded. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Jess rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. The point is that you wouldn’t even speak to me for the next week; you didn’t even try to tell me. Get out of here, Sam Winchester.”

Sam tried to speak, but his throat seemed to close up. He felt like he was being pulled in every direction, smashed against every obstacle with no control. He made a frustrated growl, then sprinted out of the room and up the stairs, miserably guilty and powerless. So weak. 

The next day dawned misty and bone chillingly cold even inside the castle’s thick stone walls. Sam dragged himself out of bed, but couldn’t seem to shake his lethargy. Everyone in the castle seemed to be in a spectacularly bad mood. Professor Harvelle displayed an incredibly short temper and snapped so violently at Andy that he snapped his quill in half. Professor Crowley took an embarrassing 10 points from Ravenclaw when Sam sneezed into his powdered beetle wings, sending an explosion of dust over the rest of the class. Lilith’s foul temper took the form of an excessively loud conversation right next to Sam about Slytherin’s impressive lead in the House Cup tournament. 

By the time Sam remembered that it was Halloween, he was convinced that the day could not get any worse. Sam dreaded Halloween, associating the holiday with some of his father’s more violent and terrifying escapades. Typically the threats they had hunted on October 31st had less to do with legendary monsters, and more to do with packs of extremist wizards abusing their power to give the muggles a good scare. 

Nonetheless, at dinner that night the great hall was spectacularly decorated and Sam felt his spirits lift a little. He sat down at the Ravenclaw table next to Andy and admired the flickering orange light cast from the pumpkin hovering above them. The pumpkin was carved with more delicacy than a human hand could ever manage, and several times larger than the average muggle pumpkin could grow. 

Just as Sam dug into his shepherd’s pie a ripple seemed to pass through the great hall. Heads stuck up from tables and a hiss of whispers seemed to overpower the regular roar of conversation. 

“Look!” Andy exclaimed. Several professors at the staff table had leapt to their feet and drawn their wands. 

Sam suddenly felt a chill run through him, shivering spontaneously as though his stomach had turned to ice. The doors of the hall burst open and Sam jumped to his feet as every student did the same. 

Standing at the door was an enormous cloaked figure, skimming eerily across the stone floor. Sam felt a rush of fear go through him and then suddenly a jolt of despair. The world seemed to grow cold and dark and merciless and the faces of his peers warped into ugly sneering enemies. He felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach as all hope drained away and suddenly he could hear a faint sound. As it grew he sensed somehow that it was a woman screaming, a long inhuman cry of pure terror. Sam swayed a little, eyes rolling back. He could smell it, growing stronger and more familiar, smoke. Smoke and screaming.

Abruptly the hall was flooded with white light and Sam was vaguely aware of tall figures sweeping past him, and the terrible cloaked creature fleeing. A furious voice was shouting something, and Sam heard sobbing around him. 

“Sam!” Andy’s voice snapped him out of the trance of horror. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Fine,” Sam murmured faintly and sat down unsteadily. He saw students around him reeling and crying. “What was that that thing?”

“I think it was one of the dementors. I thought they weren’t supposed to come into the school. We weren’t supposed to see them,” Andy said, fighting back panic. 

“Couldn’t resist I guess,” Sam said faintly. “So much to feed on in here.” 

A commotion seemed to be going on at the next table, and suddenly Jo popped up at Sam’s side. 

“Sam, you’d better come, it’s your brother,” She said firmly, pulling him through the crowd and towards the door.

“No one may leave the great hall at this time but prefects, Jo. We’ve got it under control, everyone is safe. We just need you to remain calm,” Professor Harvelle said, stopping her daughter. 

“I know!” Jo pleaded. “Please, it’s his brother.”

Professor Harvelle eyed her daughter harshly, then slowly lowered her arm and allowed them to pass. Sam felt dazed as Jo dragged him through the empty halls to the hospital wing. 

The beds of the hospital wing were unusually full after the dementor incident. A second year boy had apparently been trampled by a few seventh years attempted to flee. Sam caught sight of Bela Talbor, a Slytherin fourth year, apparently unconscious, but her mouth pulled into a silent scream.

The school nurse hurried over to them, face disapproving, until Jo identified Sam yet again as Dean’s brother. 

“He’s over here, doing as well as you’d expect. Honestly, dementors in the castle! What on earth were they thinking?” She said, ushering them over. “If you need anything, call for Tessa and I’ll be right over.”

Castiel hovered over Dean’s bed, pacing furiously, his arched brows drawn low over smoldering blue eyes. Dean stirred himself to full alertness when he saw Sam approaching. He looked pale and drawn, hands trembling at his sides, but the dull color in his cheeks and tight frown of his mouth displayed more embarrassment than illness. He groaned when he saw Sam.

“I told you not to get him Jo, I’m fine. I was only out for a minute! It’s not a big deal!” Dean snarled hoarsely. Castiel glared wordlessly at him. “I’m calm, ok, I’m fine.” 

Tessa the nurse appeared behind Sam and pressed an enormous bar of chocolate into Dean’s hands. She glanced at Sam, examined him for a moment, and then handed him a large chunk as well. 

“Eat it all, and then I’ll release you both for the night.”

“No complaints here.” Dean said, smiling weakly. Sam stared hazily at the chocolate, still feeling awful and disconnected. He took a tentative bite and then another larger one, and to his surprise he felt instantly a little better. The cloud hovering over his eyes seemed to dissipate, and suddenly he felt sick with worry instead. 

“What happened, Dean? Did that… dementor thing do something?” Sam asked. Dean flushed with humiliation. 

“I just fainted a little, okay? I don’t know why.” He grumbled, shaking fingers fumbling with the chocolate. Castiel reached down and silently broke off a piece for him. Dean chewed for a minute, and his hands steadied a little. His face still looked nearly white, freckles standing out in stark contrast. 

“Tessa said he’ll just need a few hours.” Jo said, rubbing a comforting hand on Sam’s back. 

“Jo, so help me, if you bring the whole quidditch team in here to laugh at me later, I will destroy you.” Dean threatened. 

“They wouldn’t laugh. They’re all worried.” Jo said, offended and blinking rather quickly. “We’re your friends!” 

“Sure, it’s not like I just had sort of a dramatic collapse in the middle of the great hall. Dean Winchester having fits of terror, swooning at the vapors, delicate flower wilting at-“ Dean spat out bitterly.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of! Some people react differently, you arse! All I could hear was my mom sobbing, that smell of my dad’s old coat, that-“ Jo exploded, then her voice broke and she ran from the room. 

Dean started to call her back, then drooped, face settling into a miserable combination of guilt and fatigue. The next bed over, Bela Talbot woke up and started to cry. Sam finished the chocolate in silence, conversation stopped by the broken wail from the other bed. Castiel stood over them, back blocking the door from view like a slim brooding shield. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” said Sam quietly. Dean sighed and struggled to a sitting position.

“Don’t worry, Sammy. I promised I’d take care of you, and no freaky cloak monster can stop me so easily,” Dean said, a faint smile touching the corner of his mouth. 

“Thank you,” Sam said, trying to force everything that he felt yet could not articulate properly into those two words. Standing their with his brother and Castiel, Sam felt against all odds completely unworried and secure. 

Abruptly the door burst open and Bobby Singer stormed in, nearly spitting with rage as he raced over to Dean. 

“That bunch of incompetent, ignorant, unconcerned idjits think they can just bring dementors into the castle full of children just to protect their little toys? Well, I’ll teach ‘em a thing or two, they may handle dementors, but they won’t know nothing of fear until I’m done with them, I swear-“ Bobby spluttered, angrily tugging his beard as Tessa swooped down to intercept him.

“Professor Singer, if you cannot remain calm I will ask you to leave immediately.” She said severely and Bobby sobered himself at once, although his scowl remained. 

He gazed tenderly down at Dean for a moment and Sam worried he would make another upsetting remark as Jo had. However, all Bobby did was cross his arms and raise an eyebrow. 

“A guess you think you’re pretty special, huh? Looking all tragic and traumatized here. Well I got news for you kid, you’re nothing new. There are hundred of wizards far tougher than you passing out near dementors every year. Just means they seen some harder times than others, nothing to get all twisted up and pouty about, you got it?” Bobby sneered. Dean’s relief was palpable, although his only reaction was a rude hand gesture in Bobby’s direction. “I’ll be doing a special lesson in all my classes tomorrow, dementor 101 a little earlier than I’d planned, so I’ll get you lot all straightened out with the facts.”

“Will you teach us to kill them?” Castiel asked casually, speaking for the first time. Bobby’s eyebrows rose.

“Aren’t many ways to kill ‘em, but I’ll start teaching the older students how to drive them away like I did today.”

“Good.” Castiel said darkly, and Sam noticed that this cool fixed look was how Castiel exhibited wrath. 

Tessa broke in at that point, reminding them that all of her patients needed a little time to rest before she could release them, and ushering them out efficiently. Dean waved morosely from his bed, looking bored and irritated. 

Castiel and Bobby walked Sam back up to the Ravenclaw common room under the pretense of being companionable, but in reality acting as a sort of royal guard. The castle was eerily empty, not even the poltergeist daring to show himself. All of the portraits muttered as they saw the group pass, looking nervously from one frame to another. Gordon Walker leapt out unexpectedly in front of them, eager to catch Sam breaking a rule, but one harsh look from Bobby restrained him and he slunk off bitterly.

When Sam entered the Ravenclaw common room, dozens of heads turned expectedly towards him and suspicious whispers broke out. Most of the house seemed to have crowded into the room to discuss the incident, and a few older students seemed had books open and seemed to be teaching impromptu lessons on dementors. 

Slinking in late, Sam felt every pair of eyes slide over him curiously. He felt hyper-aware of his body, moving carefully through the crowd. A few third years cast him hostile glares, distrustful of Sam’s mysterious disappearance and unexplained reappearance. 

An older girl with shiny dark hair stood up, recognizably Lisa the prefect. 

“How’s your brother, Sam?” She asked with forced loudness, speaking to the entire room. 

“He’ll be alright.” Sam mumbled, face flushing, deeply grateful.

“Good. You tell him that his little stunt won’t get him out of our quidditch match next week, alright?” Lisa grinned. “Can’t avert his doom so easily, yeah?” 

Sam nodded, and the tension ceased. The other students relaxed back into normal conversation, and Sam dragged himself up the stairs before collapsing into bed, fully clothed, and falling immediately into a dreamless sleep. 

Classes resumed as usual the next day with few professors directly addressing the dementor attack. A few Syltherins jeered at Dean, reenacting the attack with mocking exaggeration. Luckily most of the Gryffindor quidditch team was with him at the time, half to restrain him, and the other half to lose fifty points by cursing the Slytherins with large painful clusters of boils.

As promised, Bobby interrupted their study of shield charms to devote the day to the characteristics of dementors. It seemed to reassure many of his fellow classmates, but Sam resented the study of pure theory and longed for actual defensive spells. 

However, Sam reminded himself, he wouldn’t be so helpless when Bobby showed him more advanced techniques in their special practice session that night. 

When Dean arrived that night at Bobby’s empty classroom, his foul mood had clearly not worn off. He made snippy comments about Bobby’s lateness, and then sulked in the corner, while Castiel practiced disarming with Sam. Bobby finally arrived, looking frazzled, his battered hat hopelessly askew. 

“All right you two, get set for the patronus charm as we covered in class today.” Bobby waved at Dean and Castiel and they both stood and closed their eyes for a moment of concentration.

“What about me?” Sam asked. “Can I learn the patronus as well?”

“Sorry Sam, that’s years ahead of you. No one older than thirteen has ever done one,” Bobby chuckled. “But I could show you a few good signaling spells you could use if you ever run into another.”

Bitterly disappointed, Sam accepted a book from Bobby and grimly set himself to learning various magical methods of signaling for help. Meanwhile Dean and Castiel alternated between periods of deep concentration and jabbing their wands around shouting “expecto patronum!” to no effect. 

“C’mon, put some energy into it.” Bobby said critically. Dean whirled on him.

“I’m putting all the energy I’ve got!” Dean snapped. “But nothing is happening.”

“I can see that, princess. Now make something happen.” Bobby retorted, crossing his arms. Sam gave up the pretense of studying signals and watched his brother. 

“Maybe it’s the memories.” Castiel suggested. “I can’t really come up with something happy enough. What were you thinking of?”

“Our match against Slytherin last year. When I knocked Meg Masters off of her broom.” Dean said fondly.

“That’s not a happy memory, that’s just you gloating, ya idjit. Think of something good.” Bobby said. Dean and Castiel searched their memories again for a moment. Then in unison they raised their wands and shouted “expecto patronum!”

From the tip of Castiel’s wand, a silvery mist appeared and glimmered for a few moments in midair. Dean whooped and clapped his friend on the back, sending an obviously pleased Castiel staggering a few paces forward. 

“Brilliant, Cas! What did you think of that time?” Dean cried.

“That night we trapped Raphael in a broom cupboard and snuck into the forbidden forest,” Castiel admitted breathlessly. Dean grinned as he recalled the event, then screwed up his face and tried the spell again, still to no effect. 

After another half an hour of practice, Dean was red faced and had nothing to show for his efforts but a slightly hoarse voice from all the shouting. Castiel had produced a thin silver mist consistently, until finally he managed to produce an incredible silver falcon, which soared around the room for a few minutes before fading away. 

“And what little gem did you think of that time?” Dean demanded, becoming overtly jealous. Castiel dipped his head and mumbled something incomprehensible. “Hey, help a friend out, Cas! You’re the genius here, what was the memory?”

Moving quickly to diffuse the situation, Bobby stepped between them, congratulating Castiel. 

“Maybe we ought to call it a night,” he suggested forcefully, staring pointedly at Dean. Dean’s face crumbled a little. His shoulders sagged and he turned to pack up.

“Figures, I guess,” He laughed viciously. “I never expected to be top of the class anyways. Everybody knows I’m not exactly destined for greatness.” 

“Dean, don’t do that,” Castiel groaned. “You’re good at defense. Probably better than I am. You’re still just tired out from yesterday.” 

“Sure, Cas,” Dean forced a smile. “Sorry for acting like a prat.” Castiel swallowed hard and seemed to arrive at a decision. 

“I was thinking about you. The first time you said I was your friend,” Castiel said, forcing the words out slowly and thickly. Dean’s face shifted through an incredible range of emotions ranging from genuinely touched to disbelieving. 

“Wow, Cas. That’s really… really naff. Complete rubbish, really. Sounds like you fancy me a bit,” Dean chuckled, and Castiel looked despairingly up at the sky as if pleading to evaporate and never again face the dull idiocy of life. 

“Well it worked, didn’t it?” Castiel said shortly. “So unless you’re willing to dig into some memories with real emotional stakes, you’ll never learn this spell and you’ll never repel a dementor.” 

“I can’t think of anything with ‘emotional stakes’!” Dean responded, mirroring Castiel’s irritation. 

“Think about something outside of Hogwarts! Think about people or feelings or moments that changed you!” Castiel shouted, his tone sarcastic, but his face earnest. 

“There’s nothing!” Dean yelled, bursting with frustration. “I’ve got nothing, literally nothing! Because outside of this school, my life is shit, okay? It’s hopeless and terrifying and everyone I care about just leaves or dies or doesn’t care. My life is nothing, so what else do I have?”

The room fell silent, and Dean suddenly noticed that Sam was still sitting at a desk, gaping. Mortified, he turned his back on them, rubbing his temples. 

“Alright. That’s enough.” Bobby said quietly. “Sam, Cas, go to bed. Dean, I’d like to talk to you.”

“One more try, Bobby. Please, give me one more try,” Dean pleaded. 

“Look, you’ll do better tomorrow after some rest, I-“

“Please just once,” Dean’s voice was almost a whisper. Bobby threw up his hands and nodded his head, frown clearly indicating how terrible an idea it was. 

Dean exhaled slowly and then once again recited the spell. 

“Expecto patronum!”

The wand shook in Dean’s hand, shivering down his whole arm and then very faintly a silvery mist shone in the air. It dissipated almost at once, but for a second the shield had been clear. 

Bobby whooped and all three of them surged forward and surrounded Dean in an awkward bone-crushing embrace. They broke apart almost instantly, looking deeply uncomfortable. 

“Well done,” said Castiel solemnly. 

“Still needs work,” Bobby grunted. 

“Wicked,” said Sam.


	10. Gryffindor

By the next week, everyone seemed to have forgotten the drama of the dementor attack and instead focused on the impending Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw quidditch match. Both teams were top of their form and both could easily defeat the subpar Hufflepuff team and the inexperienced Slytherin team. Sam found himself anticipating the match with something like excitement. While he enjoyed watching Dean play, the idea that his house might win the quidditch cup filled him with joy.

Both teams were practicing nearly every day, an unexpected boon for Sam as it allowed him more opportunities to see Ruby away from the watchful eyes of his brother’s friends. Sam arranged to meet up at the owlery where they could speak privately, yet without suspicion. 

Ruby waited at the door to the owlery, wind whipping around her. As usual she appeared placid and unperturbed by the violent weather, merely smiling at Sam and following him into the tower. 

“Exciting few weeks, huh?” she said casually. Sam nodded vigorously. “No new developments on the Lilith front, however.”

“Good,” Sam said, trying to restrain his eagerness. “Ruby, I need to know about dementors. I have to be able to defeat them, fight them off if I need to; I can’t just sit around and be helpless. Bo- Professor Singer says I can’t learn the patronus charm yet, so I need another way.” 

“Relax, Sam.” Ruby rolled her eyes. “They aren’t going to start attacking students left and right. They’re under control now.” 

“It’s not just for me,” Sam said evasively. “There are people I need to protect, and I know I’m strong enough. I can learn it, Ruby, I just need you to help me.”

“Well…” Ruby bit her lip and thought for a moment. “Even with your talents, Sam, I don’t think you can learn the patronus. Although…”

“What?” Sam pressed her. Ruby cast him a nervous glance. 

“Well, there is another way. It’s just… you might not like it. It’s…” Ruby trailed off. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“No, tell me!” Sam begged. “I promise, I’ll do whatever it is.” Ruby sighed heavily.

“Technically, it isn’t a way to defeat dementors. It’s more like… controlling them.” She said.

“That’s fine. As long as I can protect people,” Sam said firmly. 

“Wait. There’s more. This method is… not entirely legal. I mean, the ministry doesn’t want every one to control dementors seeing as they’re guards and all, it wouldn’t be secure,” Ruby said in a rush.

“I don’t care! I’ve broken plenty of the ministries little rules. If they won’t let me help people, I’ll do it myself, I’ll-“ Sam broke off abruptly, then staggered back in horror. Several owls hooted complaints at his impassioned speech. 

“Sorry, sorry, we don’t have to do it, I shouldn’t have mentioned,” Ruby apologized frantically. Sam shook his head and waved her away. 

“No, I’m alright. I want to learn it. I just… I sound like my dad,” he mumbled. 

“The spell requires a potion, so I’ll need you to get some ingredients this week,” Ruby said, snapping back to business. 

“Like, steal them?” Sam asked. 

“Yes, just a few simple things: I can find the rest. And I’ll meet you on Friday after the match, every one should be busy then. I’ll be on the seventh floor, by that tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy,” Ruby said. Sam nodded his consent and she left, sweeping outside into the bitter wind.

Lost in thought, Sam attempted to feed Dean’s monstrous owl a few treats and was rewarded with an ear piercing shriek and a shredded sleeve. Worried and nervous, Sam trudged back down to the steps, thinking vaguely of finishing a charms essay in the library.

When he reentered the castle , shivering violently, he began climbing the stairs only to be interrupted by a shrill voice from behind him. Anna, the Gryffindor quidditch captain was hurrying over to him, still splattered with mud from the afternoon practice. 

“Winchester! Hey, Dean’s brother!” She hailed him, breathing hard as she caught up with him.

“My name is Sam,” Sam replied irritably. Anna smiled tightly. She was a very pale girl with a wide, tense mouth, and the intense round gaze of a fanatic. Her long red hair was pulled back from her face and the scarlet of her uniform gave something of the impression that she was on fire. 

“Right, of course, Sam,” Anna said curtly. “You’re a Ravenclaw, but Dean is your brother.”

“Yes,” Sam said hesitantly. 

“You can watch their quidditch practices without anyone noticing. You will give us a few hints about their strategy before the match,” Anna said. Sam groaned.

“No I will not. I’m rooting for Ravenclaw,” Sam said, turning away. Anna seized his arm. 

“If you aren’t with us, you’re against us, Sam. That makes you the enemy, and I swear if you betray me I will erase you from existence,” Anna threatened. Sam tried to squirm away. 

“Anna, let him go,” Castiel’s rough voice interrupted. Anna released his arm and stormed away.

“Fine, let us lose this match,” She spat over her shoulder. 

“I apologize for my sister. She means well, but she’s a little too… passionate occasionally,” Castiel said bluntly. Sam scowled. 

“I can fight my own battles thanks,” He said stiffly then turned without another word and headed off to the library.

Sitting in the library later that day, Sam had no idea why he’d reacted so violently towards Castiel. Yet his temper grew worse throughout the week. Flashes of inexplicable anger would burst forth and Sam found himself snapping at undeserving observers with alarming frequency. By the day before the quidditch match, a combination of anxiety at the thought of stealing potions ingredients and conflicting loyalties had him in a constant state of irritation. 

When Sam dragged himself down to the dungeons to sit the through the fateful potions class, he surrendered and let his hunting instincts take over. He’d stolen things before, he’d lied before, and he’d survived. He’d memorized the list of ingredients Ruby had given him and destroyed it, and his face was set in the cool invisible look of the practiced thief. 

While Crowley lectured, Sam recorded notes dutifully, and when the professor set them to their task, he got up casually to rummage through the student potions store. With one hand, Sam daintily plucked a single sprig of mistletoe from the cupboard, while under his robes he rapidly shoveled rat spleens into his pocket. Returning to his seat, Sam waited for ten agonizing minutes of brewing, then confidently stood and returned to the cupboard, this time stuffing the entire jar of asphodel under his sweater and several snake fangs into his pocket. By the time his potion was finished, and Sam made his final trip to the cupboard to return extra ingredients, he’d manage to store every one of Ruby’s items somewhere on his person. 

The most difficult part of the task came when Crowley prowled around the room to examine their finished potions. Sam’s mind had been elsewhere and his forgetfulness potion was clearly subpar. When Crowley stood before his cauldron, Sam felt sweat trickling down his back and he resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably and dislodge the stolen ingredients. 

“Miserable, Winchester. I’d barely forget to tie my shoes, let alone my own name,” Crowley pronounced. Sam nodded silently. Crowley raised an eyebrow at him. “No smart remarks today? So eager to leave? Perhaps a little excited for the big match.” Crowley smirked. 

“Yes sir,” Sam said, voice even but throat dry. The sweat on his hands grew unbearably slick and he longed to scratch his nose. 

“Well I don’t think a little extra work should keep you from it. You’ll write me an essay on proper stirring technique, to apologize for this mess,” Crowley said softly, dark eyes blank and humorless. Lilith tittered from behind him. 

One of the snake fangs slipped from Sam’s sleeve and clattered to the floor. He froze, rooted to the spot, then slowly bent and picked it up. Crowley was silent. 

“Thank you, sir, I’ll have the essay by next time,” Sam said, trying to keep his voice steady. 

“Yes you will, Mr. Winchester,” Crowley drew very close and lowered his voice. “And if I were you, I’d work on those fumbling fingers. Wouldn’t want things to slip out of control.”

Abruptly, Crowley turned away and began degrading the next potion, while Sam packed up as fast as possible without arousing suspicion, and broke into a run the moment he was out of the room. He didn’t stop until his was back in Ravenclaw tower, panting and shaking. 

Crowley’s threat had been vague, but certainly clear in its intent. Sam’s welfare hung in a delicate balance with unknown forces waiting to make their move. Crowley was waiting for the right moment to strike. 

In another hour Sam’s hands had stopped shaking, although he still wasn’t sure if it was from fear or rage. 

The morning of the quidditch match dawned freezing cold, but clear. Sam was woken by the swarm of chattering first years sweeping out of the dormitory. Quickly, he followed them and found the great hall more crowded than usual for breakfast that early. Many students were wearing hats or scarves that displayed the colors of the house they supported, and clusters of people had gathered around the respective teams. Sam spotted the Gryffindor team through the mob. Anna looked on the verge of tears, Dean laughed with a slightly manic edge, and Castiel jiggled his leg with nervous energy. 

As Sam passed the Ravenclaw team, he managed to shout encouragement to Lisa who grinned at him through an enormous bite of fried egg. Sam shoveled down bangers and mash with gusto before wrapping his scarf around his head and milling down towards the quidditch pitch. He joined another group of first year Ravenclaws in the stands, checking to make sure that Jess was not among them. 

“I think we’ve got a fair chance,” said a small serious boy, Kevin Tran. “Lisa has had a great season so far, and I heard one of those Gryffindor chasers was nearly out of commission last week.”

Sam smiled secretly to himself. The stadium quieted as the teams took the field. Lisa and Anna shook hands politely yet extremely briefly. The whistle sounded and the players mounted and took off. 

“Wow, off to an awesome start to the big game here, I’m Ash, I’ll be your commentator today,” a familiar voice boomed over the field, “and it looks like we’re starting off with Gryffindor in possession of the quaffle, and my, look at those Gryffindor chasers go. There’s Jo Harvelle passing it off to Victor Henrickson, my that girl’s got an arm! Hendrickson ducks, he dodges, oh! Nearly takes bludger to the head.”

Sam’s eyes could barely focus on the action it moved so quickly, but with Ash’s commentary, he managed to stay focused on Victor’s progress across the field. Looking shaken by the near miss, Victor soared higher and dropped the ball down to Dean.

“And a lovely hand off to Dean Winchester, his top season unmarred by a sudden illness last week. Can he be stopped? Apparently not! Gryffindor scores!” Ash cried and the Gryffindor side of the stadium exploded into cheers. A few Ravenclaws booed, but others made noises of approval at the impressive play.

“Starting off now with Ravenclaw in possession. That Annie Hawkins can really fly! This will be her last year on the team and she is making the most of it! Gryffindor beaters Tamara and Isaac try to catch her with a faint, but she just flies right through. She’s coming up, she’s almost there, she shoots! Oh! What a save from Gryffindor keeper Castiel Milton! He nearly jumped off of that broom! Blimey!” Ash narrated manically, and Sam felt himself cheering along.

Suddenly a hiss went through the crowd around him and for the first time Sam turned his attention to the seekers. Anna was circling the field slowly, searching for her target, but Lisa had made a sharp turn and headed off towards the Ravenclaw goal post. Anna followed at top speed, but was caught off guard by a bludger the Ravenclaw beaters sent hurtling her way.

“Some excitement going on with the seekers I see, Lisa Braeden is leading fresh new captain Anna Milton a merry chase with some terribly effective faints. But will it matter if the Gryffindor team keeps scoring like this? Jo Harvelle puts another one in for Gryffindor, making it 20 to nothing!” 

As the match went on, Sam found himself losing some of his self conscious inhibitions and whooping loudly every time Ravenclaw executed an effective play, jumping up and down a little when Annie Hawkins finally managed to get a shot past Castiel and scoring for Ravenclaw. Ash’s commentary became so hysterical at this point that Professor Harvelle had to take over for a few minutes, although he made sure to recover when she began shouting abuse at the Ravenclaw beaters after one of them nearly knocked Jo off of her broom. 

Although the Ravenclaw team played well, they were simply no match for the perfectly synchronized Gryffindor chasers. Dean, Jo, and Victor scored seamlessly again and again until the score was at 160 to 20. Gryffindor only needed to score twice to win even if Lisa caught the snitch. 

“Winchester goes in for the goal one more time, he’s miles ahead of Ravenclaw’s chasers- Oi! There goes Braeden in a dive and she looks like she means business this time. Milton in hot pursuit, she’s gaining slowly and steadily. Winchester scores again, but will it matter?” Ash yelped and the crowd swiveled their heads in unison. 

Lisa and Anna were diving so quickly they were scarcely more than blurs of color. The crowd went into conniptions, shrieking and stamping. The seekers continued to dive as the ground rapidly came closer. They were neck and neck, reaching out their arms. 

Victor managed to put in another goal for Gryffindor while the team was distracted, but the crowd took no notice.

Lisa broke first, unwilling to crash into the ground, but Anna tried a last desperate burst to catch the snitch. She pulled up so suddenly that the force threw her from her broom and she skidded across the grass before lurching to her feet and remounting. 

“I don’t believe it! Neither catches it, although it looks like Lisa kept her eye on it! She’s still going after something by the Gryffindor goal posts!” Ash said and all of the heads swiveled again. 

Lisa was executing a series of sharp turns and corkscrews as she pursued the snitch, Anna now hopelessly behind. 

“Braeden almost has it now, look at that girl fly, absolutely incredible! She’s putting in her final burst of speed now, while Milton still tries to get her eye on the snitch again. But wait a second, down at the other end, Harvelle almost puts it through the goal! If she makes that final point for Gryffindor… she dodges Hawkins… she ducks the- Oh! Grazed by the bludger, that’s going to be nasty. She drops the quaffle… but Winchester picks it up! Nice block there by Hendrickson on the side! Winchester puts it through, Gryffindor scores!” Ash cried and Sam couldn’t help but cheer a little.

From the other end of the stadium the whistle blew and Sam looked back to see a ragged looking Lisa holding up a faint speck of gold.

“Well, that’s the match, folks! Lisa Braeden catches the snitch only seconds after Gryffindor scores with a final score of Gryffindor 180 to Ravenclaw 170! Incredibly high scoring game today and some really top form playing.” Ash concluded. “I’ll see you next game, this is Ash signing off.”

Down on the field Sam could see the Gryffindor team rushing together, slamming each other on the back and hoisting one another in turns onto their backs. The Ravenclaw team landed more subdued, but nonetheless they lofted Lisa onto their shoulders and paraded her around.

“Well, we had a good run,” Kevin Tran sighed. “And at least Lisa got the snitch.”

Sam grinned, imagining Anna’s furious face. His brother was happy, his house had played brilliantly, and Lisa had swiped the snitch despite their loss. Overall, he was satisfied.

The party back in the Ravenclaw common room was brief, while Sam expected Gryffindor’s to go all night. Lisa laughed and smiled with every one who came to congratulate her and Annie Hawkins gave a rousing toast to the future victories of Ravenclaw house. Sam managed to slip through the crowd for long enough to shake Lisa’s hand. 

“Anna has nothing on you,” he said firmly, giving her hand a hearty shake. Lisa grinned lopsidedly. 

“Oh she never had a chance. It’s your brother who always-“ She paused uncertainly “messes me up.”

Lisa gave a nervous laugh, then quickly turned away to enthusiastically greet a friend. Sam made his exit and slipped upstairs to collect his stolen ingredients before slipping out to meet Ruby.

The seventh floor corridor was deserted as Ruby had predicted, and Sam’s footsteps rang out loudly as he hurried over to the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. He looked around nervously, glancing over his shoulder at the empty stretch of wall. 

“Are you ready?” Ruby’s voice said suddenly and Sam whirled around, nearly dropping his bag. Ruby was leaning against the bare wall, looking innocent and demure. 

“Where are we-?” Sam asked, befuddle, but Ruby pressed a finger to her lips and pointed to the wall. 

A door had appeared, without any fuss. It sat politely in the middle of the wall, seemingly oblivious to the fact that it had not existed only a few minutes before. 

“But, but I’m sure that wasn’t there. I would have noticed,” Sam said weakly, pointing at the offending portal. Ruby rolled her eyes. 

“That’s because it wasn’t there, Sam. The room only appears when some one needs it. All you have to do is ask it. And if someone is using it, well,” Ruby smiled mischievously, “you just need to know what they wanted.”

“And what did this person want?” Sam asked. Ruby drew very close him suddenly, and one of her small, graceful hands, brushed a strand of hair out of his face. He flushed.

“A place to hide something. A place to keep dementors that nobody could feel from the outside,” Ruby pulled back quickly. “Do you have the ingredients?” 

“All here,” Sam reported, pulling them out of his bag. Ruby drew a corked bottle from her bag filled with a thin liquid. Sam handed her the prepared ingredients one by one and she added them expertly to the mixture. The potion turned a dark, thick red.

“Now, are you ready to face them?” Ruby whispered. Sam nodded. “Then drink.”

Sam put the bottle to his lips and drank. The potion was hot and salty, and he nearly gagged. With a faint pop he pulled the bottle from his lips, feeling a thin dribble of liquid run down his chin. Ruby finished off the bottle. Heat began to creep into Sam’s limbs, like wildfire surged through his veins. His heart beat like a rabbit’s, but his hands were steady.

Ruby put her hand on the doorknob and smiled. Her teeth were still red.


	11. The Girl and the Mirror

Gusts of wind sent snow swirling down around the castle windows, settling in drifts on the windowsills. Sam wiped uselessly at the glass with his hand, peering through the glaze of ice to spot the slightly distorted chain of students piling into carriages on their way to the Hogsmeade station. 

Anxiously, Sam rummaged through his bag, counting and recounting the flasks of potion Ruby had prepared for him before she left for the holiday. He could feel himself getting stronger with every drop and the idea of running out filled him with revulsion. 

An owl flashed past the window, soaring until it was just a faint speck over the lake. The flow of students returning home had slowed to a trickle. Sam grinned, the thrill of having the castle almost entirely to himself for the holiday too much to resist. Leaning his cheek against the icy glass, he gleefully imagined the snowball fights to come.

As the last few students piled into their carriage, Sam leapt up from the window seat, completely forgetting about his bag and its precious contents. He sailed down the stairs from his dormitory into the deserted Ravenclaw common room, and then dashed off towards the Gryffindor common room. 

The Gryffindor common room’s entrance was marked by a portrait of a stout woman in a glorious satiny dress, and instead of solving a puzzle, she only required a password. When Sam panted up in front of her she cast him a critical glance.

“Password?” She asked. 

“Audi Nos,” Sam answered. The fat lady raised an eyebrow. 

“Very well then,” She pouted and swung forward, revealing the entrance. Sam stepped through into the Gryffindor common room. The Gryffindors had a cozier common room than the Ravenclaws, with a lower ceiling and large squashy armchairs crammed together into little circles. 

“Come on guys, hurry up!” Sam urged Dean and Cas who were seated in two of the armchairs struggling into winter boots. 

“I do not understand this enthusiasm for rolling in the snow. We spend most of our time avoiding it, and now suddenly it is time for a winter romp,” Castiel said blandly, a hint of grumpiness creeping into his reasonable tone. 

“Missing the point, Cas,” Dean said, hauling himself to his feet. “The whole idea is to get as wet and cold as you possibly can.”

“Says the one who spent half an hour learning a spell to make self-heating socks,” Castiel shot back. 

“I’d like to keep all my toes, thanks!” Dean squawked. 

“Guys, snow!” Sam said, irritated with the squabbling and eager to leave. 

Dean and Castiel stomped clumsily after Sam as he bolted back through the portrait hole. Their feet awkwardly large in winter boots, they clumsily stumbled down the stairs until they burst into the entrance hall. Gordon Walker poked his head out of a broom cupboard when he heard the commotion and scowled at them. 

“If any of you gets your snowy footprints on this floor when you’re done, you’ll be mopping all night,” he threatened and retreated. 

Sam gave a long sigh and Dean raised an eyebrow at him.

“Don’t worry Sammy, he’s only grumpy because I almost impaled him with a Christmas tree last week,” Dean grinned. “Don’t see why he’s so upset, I was just overcome with festive energy.” 

The grounds of Hogwarts were a uniform sheet of white, rolling drifts and unmarked fields of pure white. Sam charged out into it, stomping footprints into the smooth surface. He barely had time to dive to the ground before the first of Dean’s snowballs sailed over his head. 

Shrieking with laughter, Sam crawled away from the assault; frantically patting out his own snowballs and flinging them wildly back at Dean. 

The fight lasted until they were so cold and exhausted that they both collapsed into the cushiony crush of snow beneath them. Castiel lay a few feet away, flat on his back. Slowly he flapped his arms and legs, leaving his shape imprinted onto the ground. 

The trio finally staggered back inside after a few hours completely soaked and nearly frozen. Sam’s teeth were chattering so hard he was nearly incoherent and Dean’s fingers only regained a full range of motion after several hours in front of the roaring fire of the Gryffindor common room. 

All three of them stripped off their robes so that they could dry and sat on the floor in shorts and thin cotton shirts. Castiel shuffled up to his room and returned with a game of exploding snap, which they played for hours. 

When Sam began to yawn uncontrollably, Dean hustled him back to fetch his pajamas from Ravenclaw tower, but let him share his bed that night. Sam slept deeply and dreamlessly, listening to the soft sounds of his brother’s breathing and the snow swirling past the window.

When Sam awoke on Christmas morning Dean was already awake. 

“Sammy, kill the beauty rest and open these!” Dean grinned and chucked a few wrapped parcels onto Sam’s chest. Grunting with discomfort, Sam struggled upright and looked blearily down at the packages. 

“What about yours?” He asked. Dean shrugged.

“Couldn’t wait. Quidditch books from Cas, cauldron cakes from the Harvelles, and a few muggle books from Bobby.” Dean said, planting himself in front of Sam and offering him a cauldron cake. Sam’s eyebrows shot up when he saw the incredible number of presents in front of him. 

Tearing open his package from Bobby first Sam discovered a beautiful little chess set with delicate moving pieces. Dean whistled, impressed. 

“You’ll have to convince Cas to play a game later; that’s really nice.” Dean said, pleased but a little alarmed at the luxurious gift. “Mine’s here.” 

Dean’s shoddily wrapped package contained an assortment of candybars, a new quill, and what appeared to be a collection of stolen motel soap. Dean smiled a little nervously and scratched the back of his neck.

“It’s not much, really, I just thought you might need-“ Sam cut him off with a hug.

“Thank you. It’s perfect.” Sam whispered into his brother’s ear, then turned to the next package. The Harvelles had sent him an enormous box of baked goods including homemade mince pies and chocolate frogs. 

“Cas, are you up?” Sam called, poking his head around the post of the bed. Castiel was crouched next to a nearby bed, shoving an enormous stack of presents behind his bed. Fumbling a little, Castiel turned and tossed a very obviously broom shaped package over his shoulder.

“Yes, uh, just a moment,” Castiel said. Sam couldn’t help but grin a little. He’d hardly ever seen Castiel so flustered and his obvious embarrassment with his family’s riches was rather touching. 

“Here, open this one,” Dean said stiffly, handing Sam a soft parcel. “It’s from dad. He’s still thinking of us, I guess.” 

Sam tore open the brown paper and discovered a luridly pink sweater. Dean snorted a little. Sam gave him a skeptical glare. 

“Well, you know dad, always a joker,” Dean grinned weakly. 

“Who did you steal it from?” Sam asked tiredly.

“No one! I swear it came in the mail!” Dean protested, and then drooped a little. “… Someone else’s mail, maybe.” 

“Look, it’s ok that he didn’t send anything,” Sam muttered. “I’d rather he didn’t. At home it was always just guns or knives or he just didn’t show up.” 

Dean stared glumly down at the sweater and nodded wordlessly. Slowly, he reached over and stuffed the sweater under the bed and out of sight. 

“Will you be opening mine next? I understand it is traditional for me to observe your reactions,” Castiel said, appearing suddenly at the end of the bed. His face portrayed nothing but reverential seriousness, but his eyes betrayed a twinkle of humor. 

Sam tore open the last gift and gasped to discover and enormous leather bond book entitled ‘Hogwarts: A History’. 

“It’s comprehensive. I thought it would be of interest to you,” Castiel offered, nervously gesturing to the book.

“It’s incredible, thank you!” Sam cried. For a moment it seemed like Castiel might hug him, but they both shied away abruptly and settled for a sort of passionate handshake. 

“Alright you two, enough off that. Get dressed so we can go get some food,” Dean rolled his eyes at them. 

“Brilliant, I’m starved,” Castiel said and dashed back to his own four-poster. Dean leaned over to his trunk to pull out a pair of robes, but Sam hesitated. 

“Actually, I’ve got one more thing for you,” He whispered as Dean rummaged through a pile of clothing. “Bobby gave it to me for dad, but… I’d rather you had it.”

From his bag, Sam removed a little parcel wrapped in newspaper. Dean stared down at it, then looked up and met Sam’s eyes. His face looked strangely unguarded as he accepted the parcel. Gently he unwrapped it, and then held up the contents. 

A little golden amulet gleamed in the pale light from the window. Dean touched it softly then slipped the cord over his head.

“Thank you, Sam,” Dean said, his voice a little distant and overwhelmed, “I love it.”

“Yeah, happy Christmas,” Sam said, blushing a little and then busying himself with finding clothes. 

Very few students had stayed for Christmas holiday that year and the great hall was consolidated down to one table where students and staff alike sat together. Sam knew very few of the other students who had stayed, only vaguely recognizing Bela Talbot. Dean managed to eat an enormous plate of bangers and mash, complaining all the while how many of Ellen Harvelle’s caldron cakes he had eaten that morning. 

They spent the rest of the day quietly, sitting in the Gryffindor common room and enjoying one another’s company. Castiel beat Sam several times at Wizard Chess, but Sam’s losses took more and more time as he got the hand of commanding the delicate moving pieces. Sam scanned through the absolutely fascinating ‘Hogwarts: a History’ while Dean ate half of Castiel’s massive trove of Christmas candy. 

Dinner that night was small and festive. The kitchens had prepared an enormous goose and a selection of crackers were spread across the table. Sam jumped in his seat, spilling gravy down his robes, when an enormous dove burst from inside of the cracker he’d just pulled. 

After the enormous dinner Sam began to feel very warm and sleepy, leaning back in his chair wrapped in a comfortably snug sweater. His eyes fluttered shut several times as he tried to pay attention to the conversation and when he let out a series of impressive yawns, Dean ruled that it was time to go to bed. 

“Would you like to stay over again…?” Dean asked uncertainly. He still wore his amulet and kept brushing his fingers over it when he spoke. 

“It’s fine, I’ll sleep in my bed tonight,” Sam yawned as he slid out of his chair and stretched. For some reason his head was starting to ache and his mouth felt dry and sticky. Blaming on the candy, he shook himself out of the stupor and headed upstairs. 

“Well, goodnight then. Happy Christmas,” Dean smiled and pulled Sam into a one armed hug. Sam nodded and then headed upstairs towards bed. 

As he climbed the dimly lit staircase, torchlight flickering over the walls, the hair on Sam’s neck began to prickle. A cool draft swept through the stairwell and he shivered. He felt unsteady somehow, as though he was just slightly out of sync with the rest of the world. 

“Probably just too tired,” He said aloud, his voice echoing through the empty castle. He shivered again. 

Suddenly he found himself running, hurtling up the stairs two at a time. He nearly punched the wall when eagle-shaped knocker demanded that he explain what was lost without being stolen and could come without being brought. He paced back and forth frantically for a moment, nearly incoherent with inexplicable rage. Finally, when he’d calmed himself down enough to think straight he spat out an answers.

“Stars.”

The door swung open and Sam scrambled through it, pounding up the stairs into the dormitory and flinging himself down onto the bed. He seized his bag and threw the contents out in front of him. Then, seizing the flask he downed the sticky red potion in a long gulp then lay back on the bed and sighed. 

Sam took a deep breath, both terrified of the effect it had on him and desperately thankful. Then he rolled slowly to his feet and walked as though in a dream to the seventh floor corridor. Standing by the tapestry, Sam squeezed his eyes shut and wished for fear. His hand found the knob and he walked into the darkness. 

A wave of cold washed over him as he entered the room, stepping past the spell the guarded the students from the effect. Yet the cold did not paralyze him, didn’t sap his strength. The potion burned inside of him, making him feel oddly numb and disconnected from his body.

Sam reached out a hand and pointed. His hand shook with strain, but at least his nose did not fountain blood as it had the first few times. Slowly, the cloaked figures glided out from the corners of the room. 

Satisfied, Sam twirled around, letting the shadows dance around him. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he caught of glimpse of something bright gleaming in the darkness. 

He stopped, staggering slightly with the momentum. Brushing a few shadows aside, he moved towards the glimmer, which shifted and wavered as he moved towards it. Abruptly Sam realized he was standing in front of a mirror.

He stared into his own eyes, puzzled. The face he gazed at was his, yet subtle differences betrayed the image as a not entirely true mirror. The face that shimmered in the dim glass hovered a few inches taller than Sam’s. The hair lay smoothly across the forehead, and the mouth curled faintly.

Sam’s eyes roamed over the mirror. The landscape expanding behind the other Sam was green and pastoral. A well-manicured garden led up to a cozy two-story house with a puff of smoke floating from the chimney. The other Sam waved over a group of bright-faced children who threw their arms around him, laughing silently. One of them was Dean, his face free of worry or pain, bouncing a football on his head. Hovering in the doorway stood a beautiful blonde woman, waving and beckoning. 

Tears pricked in Sam’s eyes as he recognized her. His mother. No longer a crumpled, hazy photograph, but real glowing woman. 

His vision rapidly blurring, Sam stretched out a hand and pressed it to the cool, impassable glass. He knelt before the mirror, closed his eyes, pressed his forehead against the smooth surface, and wept.


	12. Forbidden

The first of the wildflowers late enough to avoid the spring frost swayed throughout the field, wobbling under a speckling of dew. The shadows of clouds swirled across the grass, prompting a thrush somewhere to panic at the sudden shade and sound his fluty alarm.

Sam knelt in the field of flowers, feeling the dew slowly soak through to his knees. He took a deep slow breath and stretched out his hand until the tips of his fingers brushed a clump of flowers. 

With a firm tug Sam tore up the flowers, yanking them down to the roots and stuffing them into a little poach. He pushed himself back to his feet, brushing dirt from his robes. 

“Got them?” Ruby demanded as she loped down the hill towards him. 

“This should be enough, right? The book only calls for a handful.” Sam waved the poach at her and Ruby nodded. 

“Good. We’ll have to wait until the quarter moon to start the brewing, but until then there’s plenty to do.” 

“All that matters is that I’m strong enough to stop Lilith. If I have to,” Sam said. “When I have to.” 

“And finding out when is our top priority, remember?” Ruby folded her arms and looked cross. “Not gallivanting around with your brother.”

Sam snorted indignantly, but stayed silent. It wasn’t quite a lie; he had seen his brother almost every night. His happy, friendly brother, separated from him only by a mere sheet of glass. 

“I need to get back, I’ve got class,” Sam lied. For the past few months since Ruby had returned, her training had intensified to the point where he could scarcely complete his schoolwork, let alone see his friends. He coasted through his classes, keeping his head down and hurrying through his schedule, particularly if he saw Jess walking his way. 

Sam managed to duck away from Ruby when they reached the castle, then he quietly slipped outside again, blending in to a group of second year Hufflepuffs until he slipped off towards the quidditch pitch. The Gryffindor team was training, faint specks wheeling in the air above the lawn. 

Sam immersed himself in homework as he waited in the stands. Anna had called the team together for a final conference before ending the practice. Sam spotted his brother and waved to let him know he was waiting.

When Anna at last formally concluded the practice Dean gave him a five-minute sign and headed off to change quickly. Jo, however, bounded over and sat next to him. Her hair flew everywhere, tossed by the wind, and her uniform was grass-stained. 

“Sam! Haven’t seen you in ages, how’ve you been?” She asked.

“Busy, I suppose,” Sam said, slightly shy of Jo. 

“Well, it’s probably good having your own friends, in your year and everything, instead of trailing after your brother,” Jo shrugged. “So, are you planning to try out for the Ravenclaw team next year?”

“Er, no. I’m rubbish at quidditch,” Sam said, glad to have been given a simple conversational topic. “I’ve been thinking about the wizard chess club, though.”

“You and Castiel,” Jo chuckled. “Too smart for your own good, I reckon. Well, I’ll see you around Sam, just…” She trailed off, looking conflicted. “Come see us sometime, alright? We’re not as dull as we look.”

With that Jo punched him affectionately in the arm, probably a little harder then she’d meant to as the blow nearly sent him off the side of the bench, and she jogged off to change. 

Sam gave a guilty sigh and collected his books. Too many sides seemed to be tugging on his limited amount of time, straining it to the point where he necessarily must neglect someone or snap. Soon, however, he would be strong enough to give them what they needed. Sam felt a hard smile tugging at his mouth. 

Tonight he would bring his brother to the room. He would banish the darkness, holding it back so completely that he could protect him without him ever knowing. He would show them his perfect world. 

“Hello Sam,” Castiel had appeared suddenly next to him, looking worn. The lines under his eyes seemed more pronounced than usual. Sam abruptly felt guilty.

“Hi Cas,” Sam replied, then make quick decision. “Look, I’ve got to run, but could you tell Dean to me meet on the seventh floor corridor by that tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy tonight at eight? And… you should come to, Cas. I’ve got something to show you.”

“I don’t understand. I am already well aware of his notorious failure in teaching trolls to dance and I do not recommend that we try it ourselves. The first attempt left several wizards with completely flattened toes, dozens of promising careers ended…” Castiel sighed.

Sam gaped at him for a moment, then shook his head and walked back to the castle. It continually amazed him that his obnoxious older brother had chosen such a marvelous friend. His friendship with Jo or Victor seemed perfectly natural, but whatever force had drawn him to Castiel was beyond human reckoning. 

Sam was barely able to concentrate for the rest of the day. He stared dismally at the clock, jiggling his feet, and doodling uselessly in the margins of his unfinished potions essay. At dinner, he barely spoke, scarfing down mashed potatoes and half-listening to Andy as he regaled a group of first years with an amusing story involving Professor Harvelle and an enchanted wad of chewing gum. Ash tried several times to engage Sam in the conversation, but Sam answered in monosyllabic grunts until he gave up. 

By eight o-clock Sam paced back in forth by the hidden door, two empty vials of Ruby’s potion clicking together in his pocket. He turned at the sound of footsteps and to his relief saw Dean and Castiel bounding towards him.

“So, what’s up, little brother? Need somebody beat up? Something stolen?” Dean asked, flashing Sam his cheesiest grin.

“Whatever your mission is, Sam, I promise we will try to help,” Castiel added sternly. 

“I found something,” Sam said slowly. “I wanted to share it with you.”

“Found the Barnabas the Barmy tapestry?” Dean asked. “Look, Sammy, it’s a pretty good one and I’m not gonna lie, those trolls are goofy…”

“Behind the door, Dean,” Sam grinned, relishing the confused expression on his brother’s face as he spun around.

“But there is no… I… I could have sworn it wasn’t…” Dean trailed off, racing to the door and running a hand down the wood grain as if to prove it wasn’t real. 

“You made it appear, didn’t you?” Castiel said slowly, narrowing his eyes. 

“Don’t you want to see what’s inside?” Sam grinned, refusing to give away his surprise so quickly. Dean smirked at him, obviously pleased at his younger brother’s sudden display of cunning showmanship. He turned the knob and leaned into the room. 

“It’s a little cold,” he muttered. Sam frowned and clenched his fists. The chilly draft seemed to dissipate. The shadows retreated farther into the corners. Slowly, Sam followed Dean and Castiel into the room, guiding them towards the mirror. As he drew closer, the familiar image confronted him again. The perfect house, the well-kept garden, the happy, normal Winchester family. 

“Do you see it?” Sam barely whispered. 

Castiel peered in first, them his face paled. His normally hardened expression faded into the softer lines of a much younger child. 

“Father?” 

He pressed a hand to the glass, desperately trying to understand.

“You came back. You came back for me. I did the right thing,” Castiel stammered, pressing the palms of his hands into the unrelenting glass. Then abruptly he seemed to snap out of his trance and recoiled. 

“What about you, Dean? Do you see it? What our lives should have been?” Sam whirled around to stare at his brother. Dean jumped and hastily rubbed a hand over his face.

“Does it show the future?” Dean asked breathlessly. “But, how? Mom’s there, she’s alive. And you with your wife. And my… son.”

Sam felt as if a dark pit had opened in his stomach. He felt almost betrayed by Dean, entranced by an image Sam couldn’t see. 

“But- but I thought we’d be the same. I thought it was telling me what I should have been. Who I am,” Sam didn’t bother to conceal the disappointment in his voice.

“It doesn’t.” Castiel said bitterly, stepping forward again and clasping Dean’s shoulder, pulling him back away from the mirror. “Didn’t you read the inscription. ‘Erised’ or ‘Desire’ backwards. It’s just showing us what we want. It’s nothing but dreams.” 

“So it couldn’t happen?” Dean asked weakly, trying to steal a glance back at the mirror. “It’s never going to?”

“We should go. Sam, I don’t think you should have brought us here. And I don’t think you should come back.” Castiel shoved Dean back out into the light of the corridor, leaving Sam in the darkness. Sam gave a shuddering sigh and saw his breath floating in the suddenly frigid air. His control rapidly slipping away, Sam bolted after Castiel. 

“Wait, I’m sorry!” Sam called at the retreating back of his brother and his friend. “Please, I didn’t know!” 

Castiel turned and stared icily back at him. Dean sagged tiredly against him, unknowingly feeling the effects of poorly suppressed dementors. 

“ I don’t know how you found that thing Sam, but if I hear a word about you even setting foot in this hallway again, I will not hesitate to send you straight to the headmaster. I’m a prefect,” Castiel snarled. “It’s my duty.” 

Helplessly, Sam watched Castiel nearly drag Dean up the stairs, desperately fighting the lump in his throat. The shame pressing against the back of his eyes made his stomach twist, but then abruptly it turned to rage. He needed more of the potion next time. He needed to figure out Lilith’s plan soon. He needed a win. 

Sam turned back and walked into the room of requirement. Although the cold seeped down the back of his shirt, he didn’t mind anymore. His mother smiled at him from behind the glass, beckoning him forward. Longingly, Sam stretched out a hand. His palm pressed right where his mother’s was on the other side of the glass. She was bathed in golden sunlight, her arm around the other Sam behind the mirror. 

Suddenly Sam became aware of a gentle pressure on his finger. A simple ring had appeared, encircling one of his fingers. Astonished, he took it off and examined it. It was solid. 

“Thank you,” He said to the mirror. “Thank you, mom.”

When he got back to the Ravenclaw tower he encountered a group of other first years playing exploding snap in the common room. They cheerily offered to let him join, but Sam shook his head wordlessly and headed up to bed, exhausted. 

However, an hour later once the rest of them had come upstairs and gone to bed, Sam still lay awake, staring at the beam of moonlight shining through the gap in the four-posters curtains. His heart raced and his legs jiggled restlessly so that even though he was tired to the point of hysteria, he could not fall asleep. Every few seconds he ran his finger over the ring again, confirming that it was real. 

At last, when he could no longer bear it, Sam threw off the covers and went to sit by the window. The glass was cool and comforting so he leaned against it and looked down into the dark grounds, like he was on the brink of toppling in and disappearing into the shadows. A few tears slipped from his eyes and his mouth twisted into a mask of misery. 

A light, misty rain was falling outside, gleaming on the tiles of the room. Sam fixed his eyes on the pinpoint of light that was the groundskeeper’s hut. 

A sudden movement caught his attention. A cloaked figure had emerged from the castle and hurried down towards the edge of the forest, a tiny shadow to Sam. He followed the figure’s progress, abruptly alert. The shadow paused in the light of the hut, perhaps glancing backwards towards the castle, then vanished into the black abyss of the forbidden forest. 

Sam craned his neck down and noticed a second figure pursuing the first, smaller with light hair shining in the moonlight. A jolt of suspicion shot through him and he found himself scrambling back to his trunk and pulling on his cloak and shoes. After weeks of hyper-awareness, Sam was certain that the figure must have been Lilith and he was not about to let her get away again.

The common room was deserted except for a seventh year who’d apparently fallen asleep in an armchair, half-completed essay sticking to her face. Sam poked his head out into the hall, scanning it carefully for any professors or worst of all, Gordon Walker. When he was certain that no one would spot him, he darted out, tiptoeing down the stairs.

Stepping lightly, Sam crouched low as he slipped down several flights of stairs. He swerved abruptly at the landing, jumping at his own reflection in a suit of armor. He didn’t feel nervous exactly, years of breaking into abandoned houses and avoiding monsters in the dark had trained him for this, but he felt like a live wire. Bitterly, he thanked his father. 

The great front door in the entrance hall was the greatest challenge. The lights were brightest near the door and there was no cover should the caretaker unexpectedly appear. Sam squatted for a moment behind a pillar, listening carefully. When after a minute he could here nothing but the wind whistling in under the door and the old stones settling, Sam bolted for the door. 

In a second, he had burst through the door and the dark, cold night came rushing onto him. Misty rain blew against his face and the wind caught at his robes and tossed his hair into his eyes. Shuddering, Sam ran down towards the spot where he’d watched Lilith disappear into the forest. 

Under the dark canopy of trees, Sam was nearly blind. He tried to move quietly, the stealth of a hunter guiding his steps, but occasionally a root unexpectedly snagged his foot. Sam tried to keep the lights of the castle in his sight so he knew how to return, but the thick leaves quickly obscured them. Sam stopped for a moment, panting and trying to listen for the sound of another person. 

Abruptly, a voice almost directly behind him spoke. Sam leapt behind a tree just in time as Lilith and Crowley came crashing through the undergrowth, talking heatedly. 

“He’s found it?” Crowley asked, his tone sharp and irritable. 

“Yes, I told you. Months ago,” Lilith replied, daintily stepping over a tangle of roots. 

“But still no key? You must be losing your touch,” Crowley smirked. “Whatever will daddy say?”

“It’ll be any day now. He’s got to get strong enough to release Lucifer; it doesn’t happen overnight,” Lilith snapped, her sharp little face pinched in displeasure. 

“And if it doesn’t happen ever, I suggest you start looking for some new hobbies,” Crowley sneered. “I can’t keep risking this every year, so you get your act in order, or I recommend you let daddy sit tight and take up gobstones or something.” 

“He’ll be ready. He was chosen after all,” Lilith said, her voice growing fainter as she and Crowley continued off into the dark.

Sam stayed frozen, his heart slamming against his ribs. His fists were clenched so tightly that when he began to move again he found deep red indents from his nails pressed into his palm. Lilith and Crowley, clearly in league, were almost ready. 

And they were training a soldier. Some terrible wizard was growing more powerful by the day, almost ready to release Lucifer, and Sam could do nothing. He was an eleven year old child and he was utterly helpless. 

His sense of direction didn’t fail him, luckily, and soon Sam saw the lights of the castle twinkling through the trees. He jogged towards it, hunching slightly as he crossed the open field leading up to the castle. Eager to end the exposure, Sam sprinted up to the side of the castle and then ran along the wall, heading for the front door. 

Ripping open the heavy wooden doors a crack, Sam slipped inside, panting. He leaned against the door, feeling it shut quietly behind him. He closed his eyes and relaxed for a second. 

Then he opened his eyes and found himself staring into the grinning visage of caretaker Gordon Walker. 

“Well, well, well. Sneaking out of bed, are we Winchester?” Gordon Walker grinned, immensely satisfied with himself. “I should take you straight to the headmaster and have you expelled.”

“Please,” Sam gasped, “please don’t. I can’t go home, please.” 

“We’ll see about that. If anyone here has any sense you’ll be waiting at the train stop tomorrow morning.” Gordon Walker’s smirk slowly faded. “On account of the hour, your head of house will be called. And mark my words, you’ll get justice one way or another.”

Sam trailed the caretaker dejectedly up the stairs. The head of Ravenclaw house was Bobby, a fact that increased both his relief and his shame. 

Unsurprisingly, Bobby was still awake and working in his office when Sam arrived. Books were scattered across his desk in drifts as though the shelves had shaken then off like leaves in the autumn. The old professor pored over a book and scribbled notes, smudging his face with ink every time he reached up to scratch his nose. 

“Sorry to disturb you professor Singer, but I’ve just caught this student hanging around by the door, planning to sneak out, no doubt,” Gordon Walker announced, giving Sam a little shove into the room.

Bobby looked up and frowned. He stowed a half-empty bottle of amber liquid under his desk, then motioned Sam in.

“Thank you, Mr. Walker. I’ll see that this is dealt with,” Bobby said. The caretaker nodded, but continued to skulk around the door.

“He’ll be expelled, I assume? About to leave the castle, he was. Who knows what trouble he was into,” Gordon Walker said eagerly. 

“Thank you, Mr. Walker. I promise I shall adequately handle his punishment.” Bobby stood up and closed the door. Woefully disappointed, the caretaker withdrew.

“Look, Bobby, I’m sorry, I wasn’t doing anything wrong, please don’t expel me.” Sam burst out. 

“I’m not going to expel you, kid, don’t worry,” Bobby sighed. “But don’t think that this ain’t serious. I’m taking fifty points from Ravenclaw, and you’ll have detention for the next month.”

“Thank you, Bobby, I’m so sorry, I won’t do it again,” Sam exclaimed, relief flooding through him.

“Why did you do it, Sam?” Bobby asked, leaning back in his chair and looking Sam straight in the eye. 

“I- I- had a nightmare. I thought I saw something outside, I wasn’t thinking,” Sam explained, trying to inject enough genuine fear into his voice that Bobby would believe him. Bobby sighed and ran a hand over his face.

“You got to be more careful, Sam; next time something like this happens, they really will send you to the headmaster and he’ll send you packing,” Bobby said.

“It won’t happen again, I’ll make sure. I’ll be careful.” Sam swore. Bobby scratched his beard, looking very tired suddenly.

“What did you dream about?” He asked.

“What?” Sam stuttered.

“I asked, what did you dream about to make you get out of bed?” Bobby’s voice was icy. Sam felt his insides plummet. 

“Just, you know-“ Sam cut off when Bobby slammed his hand down on the desk.

“Damnit boy, you don’t have to lie to me! I’m here to help you, Sam,” Bobby yelled. “Your brother told me about the mirror. You had to know it was bad for you, that’s why they lock it up. That thing poisons your mind until you can’t reckon what’s real and what’s wishing. And I can’t figure out how such a smart kid could be such a damn fool about that!” 

Sam’s face flushed with embarrassment and sudden anger.

“Fool, huh? Well sorry for trying to protect myself from the psychotic murderer one of my classmates is set on releasing from prison.” Sam snapped. “A lot of help you’ve been. You wouldn’t even teach me to fight off the dementors. But Ruby did. She helped me and none of you would. She’s the only one on my side.”

“Ruby?” Bobby seemed taken aback. “The second year? How the hell is a kid like her helping you fight dementors?”

“It was easy!” Sam exclaimed, shaking with fury. “And you wouldn’t show me even though it was so easy! All I had to do was drink a potion and I could make them do whatever I wanted! I could save people.” 

Bobby’s face froze, his eyes widening. Slowly, he took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. 

“Now listen up Sam, if you even think of talking to that Ruby again or ever going back to see that mirror, I will personally see that you’re expelled. I’m gonna tell your brother and any other professor or prefect that I know if they see you put one toe out of line, they send you straight to me. Understand?” Bobby spoke flatly. 

“You’re not my father,” Sam spat venomously, trying to inject as much resentment as possible into his tone. Minutely, Bobby flinched, then he hardened again. 

“No. I’m your teacher. So learn your lesson.” Bobby stood up and pointed towards the door. Sam stood up slowly and shuffled in front of Bobby into the dark hall. Gordon Walker had remained skulking outside in the hall and he grinned as he saw Sam’s face.

“Take him back to bed,” Bobby muttered. Gordon Walker nodded. 

As Sam walked up the stairs to Ravenclaw tower he felt the exhaustion hit him. Lilith and Crowley were almost ready to strike, he was little more than a prisoner at school and powerless at home, and he’d lost the only allies he’d had. When the caretaker shoved him back into the Ravenclaw common room, he staggered back to bed, the anger draining out of him.

But before he could let himself sleep, Sam dove under his bed, rummaging quietly until he found the book. Crawling into bed, he stuck Hogwarts: A History under the covers, pulled out his wand and whispered “lumos.”

By the light from his wand, Sam skimmed through the index, searching for anything connected to Lucifer or a warrior rising to free him. His finger stopped as he passed over the word “Erised.”

Sam flipped the pages back to the entry. Within a dense passage of text, Sam found the paragraph he was looking for.

The Mirror of Erised was brought to Hogwarts several times as a means of protection. Although the mirror is mainly known for its history with Willamar Waldroup, who died of starvation after receiving the mirror as a belated birthday present, various headmasters of Hogwarts have used the mirror as a means of protecting valuables. Currently the Ministry of Magic has ownership of the mirror, which it uses as a means of concealing the key to Lucifer Milton’s specialized cell in Azkaban.

Sam slammed the book shut and crawled under the covers, shaking, suddenly aware of his terror.


	13. Azkaban

When Sam awoke the next morning, his groggy mind spent a few minutes mulling over the previous night’s events to fully appreciate the sense of dread curling in the pit of his stomach. Unsure that he would ever be able to face breakfast, Sam crawled out of bed and went to wash up.

Once he was suitably refreshed, Sam shuffled down to the common room, vaguely thinking of curling up in some quiet corner with a book until he could get his thoughts together. However, he found the common room occupied by Lisa and a few friends practicing charms on the cushions.

Sam slunk past and out through the door, but the second he stepped out into the hall a pair of hands seized him and slammed him into the wall. He was unexpectedly faced with the furious green eyes of his brother.

“What the hell were you thinking, Sammy?” Dean snarled. “Sneaking out of the castle at night? Messing around with dementors? Running around with that Slytherin girl?” 

“Dean, please, just listen to me,” Sam begged, and Dean’s face softened at the desperation in Sam’s voice. “I messed up, but I also figured something out. We’re in trouble. Lilith knows how to release Lucifer.”

“That’s absurd,” came the gruff voice of Castiel, sidling up next to Dean and scowling at Sam. 

“It’s the mirror! I heard Lilith and Crowley talking about someone chosen to get the key to Lucifer’s prison, and the key’s in the mirror. That’s why the dementors are protecting it. We have to tell someone before they get to it,” Sam explained in a rush, feeling some of his anxiety lift just by telling it to Dean. 

Dean pulled back and gave Castiel a significant look. He chewed his lip for a moment, considering whether to postpone his wrath. Sam structured his face into the perfect wounded puppy look, his eyebrows drawing into a pained knot. Dean sighed.

“Fine, so there is something going on. But the point still stands that I don’t want to see that Slytherin ever again,” Dean grumbled. 

“We’ll tell the headmaster,” Castiel said curtly, gesturing over his shoulder in the direction of his office. Sam looked doubtfully at Dean.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Dean said carefully, moving behind Castiel to block him. “The headmaster isn’t really… receptive to us. And besides, isn’t this all a little too close to home for him, with his brother and all?”

“He’s not the only one with family ties,” Castiel raised an eyebrow huffily. “What’s your brilliant plan, then? Who do you know equipped to deal with the imminent threat of magical prison break?”

Dean pondered for a moment, then grinned. 

“Dad will know what to do! I’ll send him an owl.” Dean turned on his heel, making for the owlery. Sam couldn’t repress his derisive snort. “What Sammy, you have a problem with the plan?”

“Oh no, I’m sure dad will solve everything. Nothing to worry about,” Sam replied, forcing the bitterness out of his tone. 

“Look, he’s the one person without any personal interest in this we can trust,” Dean retorted snappishly. Castiel gave a nod of consent and with a sigh Sam followed them off towards the owlery. 

Dean led the way up to the tower at a jog, digging a piece of paper and quill from his bag as he ran. Sam’s short legs struggled to keep up as the trio pounded up the stairs. When they burst into the owlery, Sam bent over for a moment to catch his breath. 

“Get down here you psychopathic pigeon,” Dean commanded his owl. “Ow, bloody bird, no claws!”

Castiel helped Dean to seize the owl’s legs. The bird shrieked and nipped at their hands with its sharpened beak. Dean cursed colorfully but managed to tie one of the owl’s legs to a nail. He leaned against the stained wall to write the letter while the owl flapped ineffectually, trying to escape. 

“Dear, father, er maybe sir, yeah, sir,” Dean composed aloud, glancing at Sam for approval. “Just fill him in on the important parts and ask for help?”

“Tell him whatever you want,” Sam shrugged. Dean frowned and scribbled a few sentences. He paused again, then added a few more. 

“Ok, Cas, help me put it on the bird,” Dean said, folding the letter into an envelope. Castiel managed to pacify the owl somewhat until it consented to have the letter tied to one leg. “Alright now, owl, you take this to dad, wherever he is. There’s a mouse in for you.” Dean dangled a partially thawed rodent in the bird’s face, pulling it away when the owl snapped at it. 

Castiel untied the owl’s legs and it took off, soaring out over the forbidden forest. 

“Hopefully he can find dad,” Sam sighed, doubts gnawing at him. 

“He always does,” Dean said dismissively and started down the stairs. However, as they turned the corner they were suddenly confronted with the figure of Ruby.

“Sam.” She said, a sharp smile contrasting with furious eyes. “Trying to keep me away? I hear I’m forbidden to see you.” 

“Yeah.” Sam muttered. “I got in trouble.”

“Well it looks like you’ve just broken that rule so why don’t you tell me what the hell is going on.” Ruby snapped. Before Sam could respond, Dean and Castiel shouldered their way in front of him.

“Listen you slag, keep away from my brother or I swear-“ Dean threatened before Ruby cut him off.

“You’ll destroy me or whatever. You listen to me, you prejudiced tosser; I’m on your side. I’ve been helping your brother stay one step ahead of Lilith all year when you couldn’t be bothered,” Ruby snarled, refusing to back down slightly in the face of two much larger boys. 

“Look, Ruby, we know where the key to Lucifer’s cage is and we know that Lilith and Crowley are close to getting it,” Sam interrupted, trying to prevent an all out fight. Ruby frowned at the news. 

“This is bad. You have to act fast if you want to stop her.” Ruby pursed her lips. “You’ll need power if you want to save everyone.” 

“Then tell me how to get it,” Sam begged. 

“Sammy, don’t listen to her. I’m taking care of it,” Dean growled, trying to push Sam behind him again. 

“Don’t be a prat, Dean,” Ruby scoffed. “You can barely manage a dementor; how do you think you can protect your brother from the most powerful and terrifying dark wizard to ever exist? He’s coming for you and your brother, he wants that wand back, and Michael isn’t going to stop him as long as he gets yours. You need help.” 

“We’re handling it our way,” Dean said, his composure wavering slightly. 

“Tell the Ministry of Magic. They’re the ones in charge of Azkaban. They can move the key,” Ruby insisted. 

“Dad says the Ministry-“

“And you always follow your father blindly, huh? Just like Sam told me, your just a good little soldier,” Ruby smirked. 

Dean’s face fell and he turned to Sam. Sam flushed with shame, the agony of betrayal written plainly across his brother’s face. 

“Dean, I-“ Sam began, but Dean turned his back and continued down the stairs.

“Save it,” he muttered. Sam turned back towards Ruby, wishing that he could admonish her somehow, but Castiel loomed in between them and placed a firm hand on Sam’s shoulder. 

When Sam rounded the corner, however, Dean had stopped. Rather, he had been stopped by Raphael, an imposing hufflepuff prefect and two of his cronies. Castiel’s arm shot out, pressing Sam back behind the corner and out of sight. 

“The headmaster requests your presence in his office,” Raphael addressed Dean. 

“I haven’t done anything,” Dean protested.

“I’m sorry,” Raphael said, motioning the other prefects to seize Dean by the arms, “I suppose request isn’t quite the word.” 

“But I haven’t done anything,” Dean shouted again, struggling. 

“It seems the headmaster has recently received information involving breaches of the statute of secrecy committed over the summer by you and your father,” Raphael smirked faintly, and shoved Dean in the small of the back, sending him stumbling forward. 

As the other prefects led Dean away, Raphael took one last look up the staircase. He advanced up the stairs slowly, peering around. Sam felt his breathing grind to a halt as Raphael nearly turned the corner. Suddenly the sounds of a small scuffle issued from the direction Dean had left and Raphael immediately turned back, cursing softly and drawing his wand. 

“What are they going to do to him?” Sam whispered to Castiel. 

“I don’t know. Expel him maybe. Send him to court if it’s serious enough,” Castiel whispered, sounding strained.

“We’ve got to get him out, rescue him or something,” Sam hissed, peering down the stairs to make sure the coast was clear. “Come on.” 

But Castiel didn’t move. His face tightened with pain and he huddled back against the wall.

“What are you waiting for?” Sam whispered furiously. 

“I can’t,” Castiel muttered. “They’re my family.”

“But he’s your best friend!” Sam urged, flabbergasted. Castiel turned his face away.

“I have to obey.” Castiel’s tone was clipped. 

With a despairing sigh Sam gave up and raced down the rest of the stairs, thinking wildly of a plan. Vaguely considering drinking more of Ruby’s potion he raced towards Ravenclaw tower, but when he turned the corner he ran straight into Bobby.

Both of them shouted at each other for a few moments until they calmed down enough to speak. 

“The headmaster took Dean, they want to expel him. Oh! And Lilith and Crowley are planning to release Lucifer and the key’s in the mirror!” Sam said, quickly adding. “And I’m sorry. I was trying to do the right thing and I made a mistake.”

Bobby’s face was pale. 

“Professor Crowley has disappeared. And so has the mirror of Erised,” he said. 

“We have to do something,” Sam gasped, spinning around without purpose. 

“You stay put, Sam,” Bobby said firmly. “I’ll find Professor Crowley and let the headmaster deal with this.”

He swept off in a swirl of robes, looking stooped and harried. Sam watched him, a sense of helplessness sweeping over him. Abruptly someone hissed from behind him.

“Sam!” A voice whispered and he turned to see Ruby poking her head out of an empty classroom. “Is he gone?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m trying to save you!” Ruby snapped. “Come on, we’re going to the ministry. No one else can save you… or your brother.”

Sam sighed, wishing he didn’t agree with her. 

“Fine,” he said. “But how are we going to get there?”

“You leave that to me. Here, drink up,” Ruby smirked, tossing a vial of potion at him and then darting off down the stairs, Sam following behind. 

They hurtled down the stairs, avoiding the confused glances of other students just getting out of class. Sam dodged a pair of disapproving prefects, skidding a little as he turned. 

Ruby ran fast, dark hair bouncing behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and Sam caught a glimpse of her fierce smile. It comforted him. 

When they burst out of the door onto the grounds Sam found himself blinking in the sunlight. The lawn was spotted with students sunbathing as they studied for exams. To his horror, directly in front of him sat Jess, glancing up from a book.

“Err, hi,” she said quietly.

“Hi,” Sam panted. Ruby rolled her eyes and looked impatient. 

“Right…” Jess stuttered. “Look, Sam, I just wanted to say sorry for how things worked out this year. Maybe next year we could just start fresh, you know?”

“Sleeping dogs under the bridge, I mean, you know,” Sam laughed painfully. “I’d be happy about that.”

“Good,” Jess smiled slightly. “Do you maybe want to-?”

“Hey blondie, we’re a little busy right now so maybe you two can make googly eyes and catch up later,” Ruby cut in, yanking Sam roughly by the arm.

“Bye!” Sam called desperately over his shoulder, furiously shaking off Ruby’s grip. She sped off towards the quidditch pitch, making for the equipment shack, and Sam realized her plan. 

“Ruby! It’s all the way to London! We can’t fly!” Sam lamented.

The door to the broom shed swung open and Crowley stood smirking at them, arms crossed.

“No, you really can’t,” he purred, casually pointing his wand at them. “Hello kids.”

“Get out of the way.” Ruby stood her ground, dark eyes narrowing. 

“Sam, stop being an idiot for five seconds here and listen to me.” Crowley sighed. “If you go to the ministry you will most likely die painfully and as relieved as everyone would be…”

Ruby stamped on Sam’s foot, whispering though clenched teeth.

“Get him. Use your powers.”

“He’ll kill us before I get my wand,” Sam hissed back.

“Then don’t use it. You have other powers.” Ruby raised her eyebrows. 

“…Now I want you back in the castle before you bloody well screw up another-“ Crowley broke off with a scream. 

Sam’s hand stretched out in front of him as he desperately tried to force Crowley aside. It was different than the dementors, definitely much harder. He felt blood trickling from his nose and his vision began to blur.

“Stupify!” Ruby yelled, brandishing her wand, and Crowley fell to the floor, stunned. “Hurry, Sam.”

Sam lurched towards a broom, still shaking from the effort, but he managed to mount one. Ruby kicked off and soared out of the shed, bent low over her broom for speed. Sam followed, his vision clearing slightly and the ringing in his ears quieting. 

The air felt much cooler whistling past him at such speed. Sam shivered and hunkered down, his eyes watering in the wind as he tried to keep behind Ruby. For an awful moment he imagined the entire trip to London by broom, but to his relief, Ruby began to descend again the moment that Hogsmeade came into view over the trees. Soon the ground seemed to rush up in front of him and Sam unsteadily swooped down into a forest clearing. Ruby landed gracefully, while Sam stumbled off of his broom, skidding a little in the dirt.

“Leave them here,” Ruby ordered, dropping the broom into the underbrush to conceal it. She took off towards the village at a light jog. Sam groaned and forced his short legs to keep pace with her. She headed past the bustling Three Broomsticks where Professor Harvelle worked on the weekends and towards a shabby little pub on the edge of town. Furtively, Ruby checked behind them before slipping into the dim pub.

As Sam’s eyes adjusted to the dim light he saw the shadow of a stooped bartender, stacking glasses with a gentle clink. The only occupant was a black-cloaked man surrounded by a haze of smoke. Ruby headed towards him purposefully. He stood and she muttered something in his ear. 

Both of them moved to the fireplace and Sam followed. From his pocket, the man withdrew a fistful of powder and flung it into the fireplace. Immediately bright green flames sprang up in the great.

“Step into the fire and repeat what I say.” Ruby whispered, then she ducked and stepped into the fireplace, saying clearly, “Ministry of Magic.”

The fire flared and Ruby vanished. Warily, Sam eyed the stranger. 

“Did she get there? Do they even let people in that easily?” he asked, skeptically. The stranger merely nudged him forward.

Sam puffed up his chest and stepped into the flames, wincing a little before he realized that they felt cool against his skin. 

“Ministry of Magic.” he repeated. Looking up, he caught a final glimpse of the cloaked stranger. For a moment, the light caught his face under the hood and he could have sworn for a moment that the prefect Zachariah grinned nastily at him. Then the floor seemed to open and Sam was sent spinning into darkness. Confusing glimpses of lights, half-caught sounds, and the faint sent of ash whirled around him until finally the momentum built to a nearly unbearable level and he staggered out into the light. 

He was in a huge room with a high-vaulted ceiling. An enormous carved fountain of a tall wizard with incredible feathery wings sprouting from his back stood in the center of the room. 

“This is it?” Sam panted, smoothing his hair down. Ruby nodded. “So how are we going to get in to see the Minister? Will he even be willing to listen?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ruby said quickly. “He’ll see us.”

“Wait!” Sam said, catching her arm. “How do you know the way?”

“My dad works here.” Ruby said dismissively, brushing Sam’s hand off and striding towards the elevator. 

Uneasily, Sam followed her into the elevator. Inside the elevator, a bland female voice listed off the destination until Ruby cut her off, commanding her to go to the Minister’s office. The elevator shot upward. 

“There’s no security?” Sam asked uncomfortably. 

“Look, Sam, I really don’t have time for all of these questions right now. Just trust me,” Ruby snapped. “I’ve told you again and again. It’s up to you to save everyone because you can do things they can’t. So you can’t back down now. It’s the world at stake.” 

Sam glimpsed her face; her lips were pulled wide into a rapturous smile. 

Sam’s heart began to accelerate as the elevator stopped. The doors opened smoothly into an empty corridor. A pair of large wooden doors stood at the end of the hall and Sam walked towards them slowly. 

He trusted Ruby. Ruby wanted to help him. Ruby understood him. She might be strange, abrasive, and secretive, but underneath she was different. Hesitantly, Sam knocked softly on the wooden doors. They swung outwards and he stepped back breathlessly. Towering between the doors was the Minister for Magic. 

Sam sagged slightly with relief. Ruby had kept her promise.

“Sam Winchester?” The Minister sounded surprised, “What on earth are you doing here? Please, come in.” 

Perplexed he stepped back, allowing them into his office. Confidence suddenly returned to Sam and he walked in.

“I’m sorry to burst in on you like this, sir,” Sam began as the Minister seated himself behind his desk, “But there’s something going on you should know about. There’s a student at Hogwarts, her name is Lilith Morgenstern, and she wants to release Lucifer. She knows his key is in the Mirror of Erised and Professor Crowley helped her to steal it.”

“Well…” The Minister said softly, looking down at his desk. “That is an interesting story Sam. Well done, very well done.” 

“Thank you sir,” Ruby replied softly.

“She’s got some sort of warrior who’s going to take the key; we have to act fast!” Sam urged.

“Some warrior, indeed. Incredible power, just incredible. More than I could ever have dreamed of,” The Minister looked up slowly from his desk. His eyes were bright yellow. Sam recoiled. 

“W- why are your-?” He asked timidly, looking to Ruby for reassurance but she continued to stretch her wide smile. 

“I must say, I didn’t have such high hopes for Mary Winchester’s boy. I mean, she was a decently skilled witch, but she just disappointed me back in the nursery. I think it was the screaming, you know? I wish she’d been a little more dignified, burning is such a traditional death for a witch,” the Minister said, relishing the horror on Sam’s face.

“You can’t, you can’t mean that,” He choked, tears welling out of his eyes. “Ruby?” 

“Sorry Sam, but you have to admit I did a bang up job,” Ruby laughed. Pitifully, Sam tried to run for the door, but the Minister flicked his wand and the doors locked. 

“But you, Sam, you have surpassed every expectation. You gave in so quickly, gained power so easily. Maybe it was just arrogance, but I think it’s something else. Something that’s always been inside of you.” The Minister perched on the edge of his desk, his tone light and jovial. “Now, tell me Sam, where is the key?”

“I told you, it’s in the mirror,” Sam sobbed. 

“Now, now, that won’t do.” The Minister frowned and nodded to Ruby. She stepped behind his desk and pressed a bottom underneath it. “I had hoped not to do this, but if you’re going to be difficult…” 

The office doors swing open and a blonde ministry official wearing dark robes entered. But not alone.

He dragged in the screaming, fighting, sobbing body of Jess. 

“Thank you, Brady.”

“Always a pleasure making the trip out to Hogwarts, sir,” the blonde man nodded, his powerful hands squeezing Jess’ wrist so tightly she shrieked. 

“I’m going to ask you again Sam, where is the key?” The Minister said with a friendly smile. 

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” Sam begged. “Let her go!”

“Don’t lie to me Sam,” the Minister said and nodded to Brady. He pointed his wand and she was pinned to the wall. 

“Sam!” She gasped. “Help me!” Slowly she slid up the wall until she was pressed against the ceiling. Sam stared up at her, panic flooding through him.

“Where is the key, Sam?” The Minister asked again.

“Let her go, please, I don’t know what you’re talking about, I really don’t, please.” Sam crawled forward, desperately.

“Well, that’s a shame. Brady?” 

Jess burst into flames. 

The scream in her throat faltered as the fire ate away at her flesh, twisting her, blackening her golden hair. Ash began to fall, covering Sam’s face. Tears tracked through the black powder. 

Finally, Brady let her fall and the tiny husk of charcoal shattered over the Ministers desk.


	14. The Fall

For a full minute after Jess burned, the room was completely silent. Sam lay on the floor, gasping as painful silent sobs wracked his frame. To his horror, he coughed, choking on ash, ash that had been…

Finally the Minister sighed and spoke.

“Regrettable,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “Such a shame. I just had new carpet put in.”

“I’ll kill you,” Sam choked, shaking with rage. “I’ll rip you to pieces.”

He stretched out a hand, trembling, trying to focus. The Minister flinched then laughed. 

“I guess you’re running low on juice, Sammy,” he chuckled.

“Don’t call me that,” Sam rasped. “You don’t get to, you son of a-“

“Please, call me Azazel,” the Minister interrupted. “We’ve known each other for years, practically.”

“What do you mean?” Sam snarled. Ruby laughed. 

“Catch up, Sam. We’ve been waiting for you for a long time,” she swaggered over to him, squatting in front of him and cupping his chin. “Didn’t you ever wonder why we needed you to get the key? Don’t you want to know why your mother had to die?”

“You’re lying,” Sam growled, struggling away.

“I haven’t said anything yet,” Ruby laughed. “You are special, Sam. I never lied about that. You see, when they sent Lucifer to prison they expected trouble. So they hid the key. But that wasn’t enough, it had to be failsafe. So someone comes up with a bright idea. What if only Lucifer himself could get the key to his cage?”

“We tried with Lilith of course, but not even a blood relative could get the key. It had to be Lucifer himself,” Azazel added bitterly. 

“I don’t understand, I’m not-“ Sam’s voice broke. “I’m not Lucifer. I’m just Sam.”

“You were just Sam,” Azazel purred. “Until I broke into your nursery and gave you a little piece of Lucifer. Pity poor mummy had to come walking in.”

“Have you ever heard of a horcrux?” Ruby asked. “Of course you haven’t, terribly dark magic. They’re pieces of a soul. If you break your soul by committing certain… actions, you can put them in other vessels, keep them safe, prevent you from dying.”

“I’ve always said, don’t put all your eggs in one basket,” Azazel added. 

“Get it now?” Ruby smiled sympathetically. “You’re Lucifer’s horcrux. You were the only one who could contain a piece of his soul. You were chosen. And now you have his key.”

“But I’m not,” Sam cried desperately. “I can’t be! I don’t want-“ 

“I’m getting a little tired of the gob on this one,” Azazel groaned. “Torture him until he gives us the key.”

“I don’t think he knows he has it,” Ruby crossed her arms. “They say he’s pretty smart, but in my experience…” 

“Fine,” Azazel pointed his wand at Sam and sent him flying into the wall. “Did you get something when you were with the mirror? Find something nearby? See something in it?”

Sam gasped and inadvertently grabbed the ring his mother had given him. The minute his hand twitched towards it he realized his mistake, but Ruby had seen it. 

She yanked his hand forward and pulled at the ring. Sam clenched his fist. 

Ruby snapped his finger.

“Here we are,” she said cheerfully, handing the ring to Azazel. He shuddered.

“Oh yeah, that’s the ticket alright. Start the ritual.” 

Ruby nodded, pulling a knife from her bag and exiting the room. 

Sam curled up in the corner, holding his throbbing finger. Azazel stood over him.

“I’m assuming you don’t want to watch. I hear it’s a fabulous light show.” He said. “But at least we have a chance to chat. You’ve still got a role to play in this, Sam. That’s the only reason Michael agreed to give me a hand in this little scheme. Lucifer’s going to want a wand when he gets out, and not just any stick. There’s this pesky rule about wand allegiance, I know, red tape, and it’s no easy task convincing the little buggers to return to you.”

“I’ll die first,” Sam spat.

“That’ll do the trick,” Azazel said dismissively. “But he’ll want to do it himself.”

“Then I’ll kill him first,” Sam said. 

Suddenly there was a scream from outside and suddenly the door exploded inward, showering the office with dust. In the doorway, panting and bloody, stood Dean.

“Not if I kill him first,” Dean smirked, raising his wand and pointing it directly at Azazel. 

“Suicide mission, Winchester. This entire building is full of my people. They won’t be long,” Azazel said, pacing across his office, his wand fixed on Dean.

“Pity, because I’ve got a nice long story,” Dean countered. “And I’m just itching to share.”

“Take as long as you want, nothing can stop it now,” Azazel shrugged. 

“Well it starts out with my carefully orchestrated capture. You might remember, Michael did mention he was, what did he say? Using you. Planning to spring his brother so they can have it out the way he wants. Big fight basically, you know how brothers get. Apparently he needs this innocent little tree branch to do it.” Dean waved his wand around.

“Michael does love his rules.” Azazel quirked his head. “And prophecies, don’t get him started. Destiny. All that. He eats it up.” 

“Yeah well I was getting a little bored with that, listing to the ranting about my purpose and grand plans. Luckily my best friend Cas decided to sort out his priorities and released a giant horde of pixies into the great hall. And of course there was the incident with the Gryffindor quidditch team’s indoor practice. Don’t even get me started on Peeves and those sinks.” Dean laughed to himself. “It seems that Professor Singer hadn’t been much help in the clean up so Michael had to go down himself. What a convenient time for Jo to open the window to his office.”

“How charming. I guess love and teamwork really does conquer all.” Azazel sounded bored.

“I’m building to something here,” Dean reassured him. “The point I’m getting at here is that while my friends are currently doing their best to get expelled from Hogwarts, I’m here.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Azazel talked slowly as though to someone very hard of hearing. 

“Did you think I could break in the Ministry of Magic by myself?” Dean asked incredulously. “That Professor Crowley was a lot more helpful than you made him out to be, very informative.”

“Crowley,” Azazel snarled. “That traitor.”

“Nobody is coming.” Dean’s smile became cold and hard. He turned to Sam and winked. 

“Avada Kadavra!” Azazel screamed.

“Stupify!” Dean yelled at the same moment.

The spells collided midair, knocking both Azazel and Dean off of their feet. Dean scrambled for his wand, but Azazel was too quick, kicking it across the room.

“Expelliarmus!” Sam bellowed, hitting Azazel from behind. He staggered, his wand flying away. 

“You’re really proving an irritation to me, Sam,” Azazel said, his yellow eyes flashing as he turned towards Sam, face a mask of hatred. “Just like your mother.”

“I’d be more worried about what we got from our father,” Dean said from behind him.

Azazel turned, face twisting as he saw the gun in Dean’s hand, a scream building in his chest. But before he could dive to save himself or even turn all the way, there was a tremendous bang and his body flopped limply to the ground. 

Dean lay panting, the gun smoking slightly. Blood began to spread across the ruined carpet. Sam shivered, unable to stop. 

Finally, Dean spoke.

“That was for our mum, you son of a bitch,” he choked out. 

The hallways outside flooded with bright white light. Screams began all over the building. Dean stood up, walked over to Sam, and wrapped his arms around him. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, trying to be numb, shut out everything. 

In another hour, Crowley had the building under control, marching around and giving orders to aurors arresting massive numbers of ministry employees. Ruby was led away, laughing hysterically the whole way. 

Sam and Dean sat in front of the fountain, silent. Chaos rushed around them, ministry officials dashing around dashing off orders. No one spoke to them. The damage was done.

Suddenly Dean raised his head, his brooding expression softening. He stared across the room. Sam raised his head slowly.

John Winchester walked towards them, out of place and hunched amid the ministry wizards. His worn leather coat stood out in the sea of vibrant robes like the ragged spine of a favorite book on a shelf. 

Dean stood up, at attention. Slowly, Sam did the same, but he kept his eyes downcast. John ran towards them. He clasped Dean by the shoulder, sighing with relief as he pulled him into a hug. Dean held him tightly from a moment, then broke away, swiping at his eyes. 

“You got him?” John’s voice was ragged. “The guy who killed Mary?”

Dean nodded. 

“And you,” John turned to Sam, tone suddenly more business-like. “You’re okay?”

Sam nodded slowly, dreading the speech sure to come.

“Thank God,” John said simply and pulled Sam into an hug, lifting him up and cradling him like a child.

Sam could take no more and he began to cry, pressing his face into his father’s chest, surrounded by the familiar smell of his father’s leather jacket. They stayed like that until Crowley arrived, telling them they could go and someone would contact them later. John carried Sam to the car and laid him down to the sleep in the back seat.


	15. Epilogue

The Hogwarts trains station was quieter than usual as students hauled their baggage aboard. The hugs between friends seemed to last longer and few people laughed or cheered. 

Sam Winchester stood at the edge of the platform, a steady breeze ruffling his hair. His bare ankles stuck out from under his robes which seemed slightly too small for him. Pensively, he stared back towards where he knew the castle waited. 

Behind him, Castiel Milton leapt from the train after stowing his baggage. His approach was cautious, almost apologetic. There were dark circles under his eyes and his shoulders slumped. 

Dean Winchester appeared behind Sam, having said his final goodbyes to Victor and Jo and even Lisa. He put an arm around his brother and Sam leaned into his side. 

“Do you think we’ll get to come back?” Sam asked softly.

“I’m sure we will. The new Minister personally pardoned us,” Dean said.

“I guess we’ll need a new potions teacher,” Sam smiled faintly. “But will the headmaster allow us back?” 

“He will,” Castiel muttered. “He still needs you.”

“I ruined everything, I guess. Even Hogwarts.” Sam squeezed his eyes shut. Dean gripped him tighter and pulled Castiel into a hug on his other side.

“Nothing’s ruined. It’s royally fouled up, but it’ll be ok,” Dean reassured him. “Maybe in another place, we would fail, everyone would die, we’d lose more than we win, but not at Hogwarts. No matter who the headmasters, or professors, or students are, Hogwarts is special.”

“But we’ll have to keep fighting,” Sam sighed. “And I just don’t know how.”

“We’ll make it up as we go.” A faint smile crossed Castiel’s lips. 

“We’re a family. We’ll figure it out,” Dean said sternly, turning back to the train as the final boarding call rang out. 

Castiel followed, gently touching Sam’s shoulder. Sam turned back for one more glance towards the castle. 

A dark smudge of clouds hovered over Hogwarts. Then a blinding ray of sunlight burst through the clouds. Sam shuddered. 

“Better get on the train, boy,” Bobby said, wandering up beside him. Sam turned and smiled at him.

“Yeah, we’ve got work to do.”


End file.
